Still Untitled >.> [5/?]
anonymous
February 23 2010, 02:12:27 UTC
It’s later when Alfred returns, bouncing up and down like a Chihuahua on speed. “Didja see me, Arthur?” he practically shouts, eyes wild and lit up. “Didja see me? Wasn’t I awesome! Everyone tells me I’m gonna be some sort of hero! It’ll be awesome.”
He doesn’t ask (Alfred never does), and plops himself down on Arthur’s bed, causing the latter’s teeth to clack together painfully.
“Ow, you git,” Arthur hisses, rubbing his now-sore jaw with one hand, and setting down his book with the other. “Be a little more careful, would you? And get off.”
One hard shove sends Alfred sprawling on the floor, and he glowers through clear glasses. “Hmph, fine. Don’t be happy for me.”
“Don’t you have your team for that?”
He pauses, taken aback, but Arthur seems set in his belief, so Alfred simply sighs and changes the subject. “You reading again? God, Arthur, do you ever stop? There are other things besides books, y’know?”
Arthur sends up a silent plea to keep his temper in check. “Like what, football? Oh yes. Riveting.” He reaches toward his neglected novel, only to have it be swiped out of his reach. “Alfred, give it back.”
“What are you reading, anyway?” Alfred purses his pink lips and squints at the title. “The Kite Runner, mm? Sounds gay.” He indelicately tosses the book back to a spluttering Arthur and observes the reaction.
Arthur turns a rather vivid shade of red, clutching the book as if it were a precious heirloom. “W-what did you say? Bloody bastard! This book is a piece of literature, not that your tiny brain could comprehend something like that. You probably think that books like Twilight are masterpieces, and that Batman is deeply complex.” He takes a step forward shaking his fist in almost comical anger. “Well, let me tell you something. You don’t know deeply complex. And calling a book of this stature ‘gay’ is an insult to every single English speaking human in existence, so please, if you’re going to say something that idiotic, keep your mouth shut.”
There is silence, broken only by Arthur’s heavy breathing. Alfred’s eyes are wide and blue, shocked. “Sorry, man, it was a joke…” His voice is small, lowered in repentance.
But Arthur is not ready to forgive so easily, and simply turns his back, flopping down on the springy mattress with his book cradled safely in his arms.
Alfred pauses for a moment, unsure whether to attempt to speak. “So, what’s it about?” He asks after a while.
The glare he receives could have caused doomsday. “It is about a young man who watches his best friend get raped and does bloody nothing about it. Now please, let me read.”
Still Untitled >.> [6/?]
anonymous
February 23 2010, 02:16:32 UTC
Once again, it’s evening before things get patched up. Arthur returns to the dorm, chatting uncharacteristically with one of his newfound friends, a sweet Lithuanian boy names Toris. Toris, despite his small size and stature, appears well learned and very mature. Arthur laments on how he would have much preferred him as a roommate, especially as the poor boy seems terrified of his own.
A creepy, childish giggle is heard from down the hall. Speak of the devil. His pink cheeks drain of color when he hears a cheery “Oh Tooooris…!” and he quickly scampers off, leaving Arthur alone. Alone with his roommate, who is opening the door and walking out and-
“Ow!”
“Ack!”
Alfred is the first to return to his senses. “Oh, God! Sorry Arthur! I didn’t mean to, I mean…” he trails off, face red, unsure of what to say. “I was just gonna go out and look for you. Listen, I’m really sorry about earlier, I wasn’t thinking…”
And there’s that sad puppy look again, stuck outside in the rain.
Arthur sighs and rubs his temples with one hand. “No, you weren’t, you git. I suppose I’ll need to lend you some of my books, to get you acquainted with real literature.” He cracks the slightest of smiles, and that’s enough to bring every twinkling light back into Alfred’s eyes.
“So, what did coach want to speak to you about?” Arthur asks, striding back into the dorm and switching on the computer.
Alfred’s excitement is about ready to burst from his skin. “He said I was really something special! That he thinks I have major potential.” He pulls up a chair next to Arthur. “He wants to meet up, just him and me, every couple of weeks to practice! Maybe I’ll even have a chance of being professional…” a contented sigh escapes his lips, and he leans back. “Plus, he said he’s gonna help me work through some stuff.” He bites his lip, chewing on the plump skin. “Don’t tell anyone, alright? But, me and my dad don’t really get along. You see, ever since I was little, he had it in his head that I was gonna join the military. And, well…”
“You don’t want to?” Arthur opens a Word document and begins to type.
“Can’t,” Alfred bursts out, then stops, flushing bright red and covering his mouth. “Uh, well, it’s a long story, but no military for me. And my dad is pretty pissed about that, so we aren’t really talking. Coach said he would help me out with that, though! Isn’t he awesome?”
“He sounds fantastic.” Click, click. Why is Alfred telling him this, when he has a whole group of soon-to-be teammates just dying to be his friends?
“Yeah. Well, thanks so much for listening, buddy! You’re a great friend!”
With a sharp clap on the back, Alfred gets up.
“Don’t you have a chemistry test tomorrow, Alfred?” Arthur sighs, not looking away from the screen.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah. It’s okay though. That stuff is so easy.” And with that, he exits the dorm, whistling the Star-Spangled Banner.
Arthur pauses for one, two, three seconds, then sighs and pounds his fists on the keyboard. Why did Alfred have it so easy?
Just to clarify, the badtouch hasn't started just yet. =D
Re: Still Untitled >.> [6/?]
anonymous
February 23 2010, 20:03:04 UTC
You certainly have my attention, authoranon. I'm really curious about the subtle changes Alfred's personality will suffer when badtouch starts. Also, very nice realistic way to lure him, couch!Rome...he's annoying as all hell (another things you wrote very well), but I'm already feeling very sorry for the guy, and nothing's even happened yet... Oh, and Arthur's outburst. Oh, dear. I feel empathy. I've had my share of neurotic impassioned speeches about literature to idiots making fun of itXD complete with hugging of the book in question tooXD
Finally, just to tell you that I'm very glad you didn't go the "superopposites at war in high school", but just two guys with very little in common yet resigned to share quarters and strangely fond of each other in a way not even they cna epxlain...
Savior [7/?]
anonymous
February 24 2010, 02:45:27 UTC
The bell chimes, harsh and grating, and everyone files out of the library where meetings are held.
Tzipporah and Ludwig wave goodbye, as Matthew breaks off and takes hold of Arthur’s arm.
“Can I have a minute, eh?”
Student council is fantastic, Arthur decides, allowing himself to chuckle in earnest at the joke Matthew just cracked. The lad could be so funny at times. Plus, they kept him distracted from the looming terror of midterms. Arthur is sure he’ll ace the literature part, but as for everything else… His bed will need to be neglected in favor of studying for the next month or so.
Banishing such thoughts, he makes a mental note to thank Matthew for suggesting he join student council. These past few weeks have been the most stress-free all year. The crisp winter air, the scent of fresh baked cookies, the anticipation of Christmas…
“And Hanukkah!” Arthur hears Tzipporah chirp in his mind, and chuckles to himself once again.
However, there are a few things nagging at his sense of calm. First of all is, of course, midterms. Bloody stupid tests. Second would be the big holiday/end of midterms party, which, of course, student council will oversee all planning of. There will be no sleep for any of them, Arthur thinks with a groan. The third issue, however, he has been trying to repress, because it’s really not an issue, probably just his imagination, anyway, but why do people keep bringing it up? In fact, from the way Matthew is sitting, moving closer confidentially, Arthur knows exactly what’s coming.
“Hey, have you noticed anything weird with Al lately, eh? He seems different.” And there’s such concern brimming in those blue eyes, and Alfred’s probably just being dramatic… Maybe he got rejected by someone. Probably something silly like that.
Arthur doesn’t mean to snap when he says “You’re his brother, didn’t he talk to you about it?”
Matthew sighs and shakes his head, unaffected by the harsh tone. “Nah. We’re not really all that close. Parents are divorced.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “Don’t be. Dad was always a little uptight.” Suddenly his expression darkens. “Talk to him, eh? I’m worried about him, and he trusts you. Won’t shut up about you, in fact, when I can get him to talk.”
“I… What? He does?” Arthur is taken aback, for once at a loss for words.
“Yeah. Promise you’d talk to him, eh?”
Arthur gives a mock salute. “I give you my word.”
Matthew grins, and the mood increases considerably. They exit the room, laughing about nothing in particular.
YAY TITLE. I was listening to the song, and I was like "hai. that would make a good title."
These compliments are making me feel all kinds of warm fuzzies, thank you all so much! 8D
And, ehm, Tzipporah is my Israel oc that I've never actually used before. Like ever.
Savior [8/?]
anonymous
February 24 2010, 02:49:35 UTC
The first place Arthur thinks to check is the football field, but Alfred is no where to be found. He would know that cocky grin and those strong arms anywhere, and they are not catching footballs on the turf. So Arthur resigns himself to going back to the dorms, knowing Al will show up some time. He has studying to do, anyway. He wonders where his roommate has gotten to. It’s not like him to miss practice like that, since he loves the game so much. Loves his coach so much.
So it’s a real shock when the dorm room door creaks open and there Alfred is, sprawled on his bed, reading a comic. He grins at Arthur with pearly teeth. “Hey there! Dude, check out this comic Kiku leant me. It’s totally cool, even if it’s not American.”
Arthur blinks. Alfred seems perfectly fine, and perfectly negligent of his activities. He speaks, careful not to let his annoyance show.
“Alfred, don’t you have football practice?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah…”
“And why are you not there?”
Alfred makes a very unconvincing attempt to look sick. “Not feeling well. Headaches, stomachaches, the works. Y’know?” He coughs feebly.
Arthur glares at him, unable to believe himself. Here Alfred is, star of the football team, getting personal help from the coach for God’s sake, and he has the nerve to skip practice for a simple headache?
“Hey, don’t look at me that way! It was serious earlier! I took some of your pills, and that’s why I’m feeling better.”
“You… What?” Sure enough, the lid on his case of painkillers is askew, and his supplies are sufficiently depleted. “How many did you take?”
“Three or four…”
“Three or… Alfred!” Arthur rubs his temples. He figures it would be in bad form to lecture Alfred about taking painkillers while popping a few himself, but it’s so tempting…
Alfred bites his lip, leaving darker red marks on the pale pink. “It’s not so bad! I’m not, like, high or anything. Besides, Co- someone. Someone asked me to meet up later and he made me swear I would. I swore I would… So I gotta feel better.”
Arthur sighs, taking a tablet and going to the computer. “Alright, alright. Just don’t take any more medicine. I don’t want to have to deal with your dead body if you OD.”
Alfred grins. Arthur doesn’t see, but he’s know him long enough to know that Alfred’s got that silly, arrogant grin plastered on his face.
Savior [9/?]
anonymous
February 24 2010, 02:52:50 UTC
Arthur studies religiously for a while, pausing only to answer a call from Toris. He can practically picture him, crouched in a dark corner somewhere, trying to avoid his terrifying roommate.
“So, the student council is planning to pay a visit to various classrooms tomorrow and promote this big winter party. And observe what the students like and dislike about these classes; we’re collecting information for when we can run for class president senior year. You cool with taking the A hallway, in the blue building?”
“Yeah, sounds fine.”
“All right! Anyway, I-” there’s a small, terrified squeak and suddenly Toris is whispering feverishly “Sorrygottagonicetalkingtoyoubye!”
Arthur sighs, and flips his cell phone closed. Behind him, the pages of the comic rustle. He checks the clock; nearly eight thirty. His stomach growls. He gets up, shrugging on a jacket. “I’m going to go to the cafeteria. Want me to bring you something?”
Alfred doesn’t look up. “No thanks. Not hungry. Oh, I might not be here when you get back. I’ll be back late, okay?”
“Oh, right.” Arthur teases. “You have a date.”
Alfred freezes, poised mid-turn of the page. His teeth are clenched as he hisses “It’s not a date. Don’t you dare call it that.”
And it’s so unlike Alfred to snap, to get angry over simple teasing, that Arthur cannot keep the shock out of his voice as he splutters and apology. He backs out of the room, still confused. Why had Alfred, known far and wide for taking everything in stride, gotten so upset? Arthur shakes his head. Best not to dwell on the subject.
It’s not until he is sipping a cup of Earl Gray down in the cafeteria that he realizes Alfred hadn’t met his eyes once.
Savior [9.5/?]
anonymous
February 24 2010, 02:58:46 UTC
It’s nearly an hour before Arthur trudges back up to the dorm, full and relaxed. Alfred isn’t there, and Arthur relishes in the sweet silence, before he switches on his computer and the steady click of his fingers on the keys fills the air.
Ten thirty. Still no Al. Arthur isn’t worried, not in the slightest. Nope. He picks up his towel and takes a nice shower.
Eleven. Arthur snuggles deep into the covers, savoring one of his last good night’s sleeps of the year. His eyes drift closed, and he’s out instantaneously.
~*~*~
It’s late when the door cracks open. Very late. Arthur’s eyes are still shut tight, drifting through dreams.
He doesn’t hear Alfred stumbling in.
He doesn’t hear the soft thump as he hits the floor.
He doesn’t hear anything, especially not the muffled sobs coming from the other side of the room.
Arthur sighs dreamily. It’s all right, he’ll forget all about it in the morning, anyway.
This right here totally isn't an excuse to make this part longer. Nope. orz
Thank you all once again for your compliments! I hope I'm still doing well. ^^;
Re: Savior [9.5/?]
anonymous
February 24 2010, 03:56:52 UTC
*bawls* Alfreddddddd....
It was the little lines that made me cry, the things we didn't see, oddly enough. Arthur not turning to see if Al was grinning. And the last bit? Oh god. Actual tears pricking at my eyes.
Savior [10/?]
anonymous
February 25 2010, 01:27:45 UTC
Beep. Beep. Beep.
There’s the alarm, having a jolly good time wrenching Arthur from his slumber. He groans and slams his fist down, missing the atrocious electronic and landing on the pointy edge of the bedside table. He howls, gripping his injured hand in agony and throwing the offending alarm clock against the far wall.
Well, at least he’s awake.
There’s shuffling from across the room. Alfred must be getting up, too. Arthur turns.
“Bloody hell, Alfred. You look awful.” He frowns. Maybe Alfred really was feeling sick yesterday, and he was pretty harsh… “Do you have a fever? Here, let me check…” He stumbles out of bed, reaching to press his fingertips to the other’s forehead.
Alfred shrinks back against the wall, holding up his hand, as if to protect himself. “N-no! I’m fine, really!” The grin he flashes doesn’t look quite right, but Arthur can’t bring himself to think on the matter this early in the morning.
“Alright, Alfred. If you’re sure.”
There is silence, uneasy and awkward. Something is troubling the normally easy atmosphere in the room.
“H-hey, Arthur?” Alfred’s voice is so small, so unlike him. “Hmm?”
A pause. “We’re friends, right? Best friends?”
Shock courses through Arthur. What did he just say? What?
Alfred still won’t meet his gaze.
“Of course, Al, of course. Now, let’s get you some breakfast.” He gives his shoulder a soft squeeze.
This time, Alfred only flinches a little at Arthur’s touch.
---
They go their separate ways after breakfast. Arthur has some propaganda to spread, and he is fully equipped with flyers and confetti and the power of words.
He passes a few members of student council, armed and ready for battle, and they exchange high fives.
“…And that is why you should all come to the Winter Dance.” Arthur grins obnoxiously, trying to capture the essence of Alfred’s easy smile. It doesn’t work.
He coughs awkwardly, says a quick “good bye, thank you.” and hurries out of the classroom. So far, his advertising has gone rather well. Most students are excited, but, then again, it’s a dance.
Only a little bit left of the period. Time for one more class.
He opens the door, putting on a cheery smile. “Hello, I’m here for the student council. We just have a few things to talk to your class about.” From the way some kids are grinning and others are groaning, Arthur can guess that some type of assignment has just been passed back. Something catches his eye.
It’s Alfred, prominent in the center of the class. And he looks miserable.
Suddenly, the speech doesn’t seem as important, but Arthur plasters his face with a grin anyway.
Alfred looks up, flashing him a glowing grin. Arthur guesses that whatever was bothering him, has been taken care of.
He gives his spiel. Go to the dance, it’ll be a lot of fun, there will be food…
The bell rings. Alfred shoots up, walking toward him.
“Mr. Jones, may I please speak to you?”
Everyone’s filing out. “A-alone?” he squeaks.
“Yes.” The teacher narrows her eyes.
Arthur gives an apologetic shrug. “I’ll talk to you after practice.” He turns to go, but not before noticing the paper clutched in Alfred’s hands. Unit test, with a big, red F stamped on it.
Savior [11/?]
anonymous
February 25 2010, 01:35:51 UTC
Arthur is almost sorry he left a meeting early to catch the tail end of football practice. Not because he has anything in particular against the sport, although he never understood what was so entertaining about watching sweaty, padded men tackle each other.
Maybe that was how they attracted their female fans.
In any case, this is not the reason Arthur is currently perched on the hard metal of the bleachers, trying desperately not to look at the turf.
“What’s wrong with you, Al?” one of his teammates is saying, removing his helmet and shaking out his glossy brown curls.
“Yeah, you okay, man?” another pipes up, the ball tucked safely under his arm. The ball Alfred had fumbled not once, not twice, but three times.
“Aw, man.” A third chimes in. “I bet he’s got girl problems. That’s the only thing that could keep a man from his football.”
The first one shoves the third, roughly. “Shut it, Bill. Just because you couldn’t get a girl to date you if she were blind.”
Bill turns red, then purple, then an interesting shade of green.
“No, guys,” Alfred puts in, wearily. “It’s not girl problems. It’s nothing, okay? Just not myself today.”
You can say that again. Arthur thinks. He doesn’t want to move from his safe position on the bleachers to interrupt the guys in school most capable of breaking his face.
“Oh, I think I know what it is.” Bill has apparently decided to keep talking. “It’s that nerdy little Englishman. The one with the weird eyebrows.”
Arthur touches his eyebrows self consciously.
“You’re not having girl problems, Al, you’re having boy problems.”
Arthur wants to smack the sneer right off his face. He half expects Alfred to, but Alfred merely sighs and turns away. Bill isn’t worth his time.
“Whatever, Bill. C’mon, Vince. Let’s go.”
The one with brown curls nods.
“Or maybe, it’s coach.” Arthur isn’t close enough to see Alfred’s expression freeze, but he hears the grin in Bill’s voice. “You always spend so much time with him, those private sessions… Who knows-”
Alfred’s fist connects with Bill’s jaw.
Bill tumbles to the ground, and Alfred is on him in a second.
“How-” punch “dare-” punch “you-” punching, punching, not stopping, even as Vince shouts and coach runs over. “What do you think I am?” Bill has stopped fighting back. He lies limp on the ground, but Alfred doesn’t stop. “Some kind of whore? Some kind of fag?” Vince grabs Alfred’s arm, tries to pull his clawing, bruising hands back. “You bastard. I would never, ever…”
“Al! Stop!” It’s coach shouting, he’s grabbed the other arm. Alfred feels their skin brush, and he gasps and wriggles out of their grasp.
“Don’t… Don’t touch me.” He whispers, eyes wild, backing away. “Don’t you ever touch me. None of you!”
Arthur sits in openmouthed silence as Vince and Coach gently lift a whimpering Bill to his feet, and they slowly limp off to the nurse.
Alfred turns on his heel and runs in the opposite direction, toward the dorms.
Arthur thinks he can see the faint trickle of tears on his cheeks, but it’s probably a trick of the light.
Savior [12/?]
anonymous
February 26 2010, 01:59:38 UTC
“What the bloody hell was that, Alfred?” are the first words out of Arthur’s mouth as he slams the dorm door open.
The bright smile on Alfred’s face dims a little. “Oh, uh, you saw that?”
“Yes I saw that, you git! What in God’s name is wrong with you today?”
Alfred winces. “Sorry, nothing’s wrong… Just tired, okay? It’s been a stressful week.”
Arthur frowns. “And what was with this morning, asking me if we’re best friends? And failing your Chemistry exam? I thought you said Chemistry was a piece of cake! Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
A slow, hesitant nod. “Just, ah, not really understanding what we’re doing in class, y’know?” Alfred perks up. His bad moods always seem to go away so quickly. “You could help me study! You’re smart, right? I mean, all you ever do is study and read and hang with the student council! Wouldn’t that be awesome?”
The sparkling teeth and grin are back. “So, tonight? I was gonna go see a movie with the team, but after today, I’ll be lucky not to be kicked off. Ah well.”
As that a note of relief in Alfred’s voice? Arthur thought Alfred practically lived for football.
“Well, uh…”
“Great!” Alfred gives him a sharp clap on the back, a little sharper then usual. “Well then, I-”
There’s a knock at the door. Arthur, flustered, mutters a faint “I’ll get it.”
It’s one of Alfred’s teammates. The one with the brown curls. What was his name?
“Hello, is Alfred there?”
Arthur nods. “Hey, Al. One of your teammates.”
Alfred scrambles to the door. He quickly mutters an “excuse me” and steps out into the hall, closing the door behind him.
Arthur stares at the white-painted door for a few seconds, hearing footsteps slowly get fainter and fainter.
Is he really that disposable? Just someone convenient to talk to when all of Alfred’s other friends are busy, and when they’re back, someone to leave behind?
Savior [14/?]
anonymous
February 26 2010, 02:05:24 UTC
Half an hour and six short stories later, Alfred burst back into the room, panting hard.
“Guess what, Arthur!” he practically shrieks, knocking the Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe to the floor.
The bottle of painkillers sits right by the bedside table, but Arthur figures it would be rude to shove a few in his mouth to prevent the oncoming headache.
“So I’m not cut from the team! I’m still gonna play, and I’ll even be starting out the championship game! You gotta come to the game, it’s… Well, it’s some time in March. But seriously! This is awesome.”
Arthur blinked. Alfred looks mildly hysterical. “So, let me be clear. You beat up one of your team members, and in turn you get to start out the championship game?”
“Yeah! Wait, no… Well, yes, but…” he shakes his head. “Whatever. It’s in the past. But this is great, ‘cause I get to stay at school! If I get cut, I’mma get kicked out of school, and God knows I don’t wanna see my old man. Scholarship and all that, y’know?”
“Wait, did you just say you’d get kicked out of school if you got cut from the football team?”
“Yeah. Sucks.” He shakes his head. Arthur opens his mouth to explain, but Alfred cuts him off. “Well, gotta go! Me and the team are catching a movie. They said it was cool if I came. They’re not mad. Isn’t that great? The team is so cool. Plus, coach won’t be there… See ya, buddy!” With that, he pretty much bounced out of the dorm room, leaving Arthur sitting up in bewilderment.
---
Once again, it was late when Alfred burst back into their shared room, causing Arthur to shriek in surprise, which in turn causes Alfred to shriek and fall flat on his ass, shaking.
“Oh God, Arthur, don’t scare me like that. I thought you were her.”
“I was… Who?”
“Y’know, her! She’s coming for me, ohgodohgodohgod…”
“Alfred, what the bloody hell are you talking about?”
“Voorhees. Oh god, Arthur…” he whimpers and flips on every light switch in the room.
“Hey, turn those off! You’re wasting electricity!”
“But she could be here, ready to kill us all to avenge her son!”
Kill them all to… What the? Then it dawns on him.
“Alfred,” Arthur begins, cautiously. “Did you watch a horror movie?” Alfred giggles hysterically. “They said it wasn’t scary… Those liars…” And then Arthur starts to laugh.
“H-hey! S’not funny!”
“S-sorry Alfred,” he chokes out. “But it really is.”
Alfred whimpers, diving under his covers. “Y-you won’t be saying that when she shoves a stake through your neck!”
Arthur manages to stifle his laughter when he realizes that Alfred truly does look terrified. “Don’t worry, Alfred. I’m right here. I’ll protect you from the big scary monsters and crazy mothers with knives, all right?
“B-but I’m supposed to be the hero!” Alfred appears to be having a serious dilemma because of this.
“I’ll be the hero, just this once, okay?” Arthur chuckles again, turning back to his computer. “It’s just a movie, don’t think too much into it.”
Alfred nods, hugging himself under the covers, only partly out of fear. He seems to be struggling to put something into words. “Arthur, I need to tell you something. I-it’s about coach.”
Arthur sighs. More about coach? Really? Hadn’t he already heard from Alfred’s mouth about what a godly man he is, and on more then one occasion? “Is it important, Alfred? I really do have a lot of studying to do…”
There’s silence, this time for a long, long while. Arthur begins to wonder if he said something wrong.
“No. It’s not that important. S-sorry, Arthur.” And with those soft, sad, scared words, all of the happiness in the room is sucked out like a black hole.
I feel like such a tease right now. Arthur's gunna find out soon, I promise. Sorry if the story's kinda dragging. >.>
He doesn’t ask (Alfred never does), and plops himself down on Arthur’s bed, causing the latter’s teeth to clack together painfully.
“Ow, you git,” Arthur hisses, rubbing his now-sore jaw with one hand, and setting down his book with the other. “Be a little more careful, would you? And get off.”
One hard shove sends Alfred sprawling on the floor, and he glowers through clear glasses. “Hmph, fine. Don’t be happy for me.”
“Don’t you have your team for that?”
He pauses, taken aback, but Arthur seems set in his belief, so Alfred simply sighs and changes the subject. “You reading again? God, Arthur, do you ever stop? There are other things besides books, y’know?”
Arthur sends up a silent plea to keep his temper in check. “Like what, football? Oh yes. Riveting.” He reaches toward his neglected novel, only to have it be swiped out of his reach. “Alfred, give it back.”
“What are you reading, anyway?” Alfred purses his pink lips and squints at the title. “The Kite Runner, mm? Sounds gay.” He indelicately tosses the book back to a spluttering Arthur and observes the reaction.
Arthur turns a rather vivid shade of red, clutching the book as if it were a precious heirloom. “W-what did you say? Bloody bastard! This book is a piece of literature, not that your tiny brain could comprehend something like that. You probably think that books like Twilight are masterpieces, and that Batman is deeply complex.” He takes a step forward shaking his fist in almost comical anger. “Well, let me tell you something. You don’t know deeply complex. And calling a book of this stature ‘gay’ is an insult to every single English speaking human in existence, so please, if you’re going to say something that idiotic, keep your mouth shut.”
There is silence, broken only by Arthur’s heavy breathing. Alfred’s eyes are wide and blue, shocked. “Sorry, man, it was a joke…” His voice is small, lowered in repentance.
But Arthur is not ready to forgive so easily, and simply turns his back, flopping down on the springy mattress with his book cradled safely in his arms.
Alfred pauses for a moment, unsure whether to attempt to speak. “So, what’s it about?” He asks after a while.
The glare he receives could have caused doomsday. “It is about a young man who watches his best friend get raped and does bloody nothing about it. Now please, let me read.”
Reply
A creepy, childish giggle is heard from down the hall. Speak of the devil. His pink cheeks drain of color when he hears a cheery “Oh Tooooris…!” and he quickly scampers off, leaving Arthur alone.
Alone with his roommate, who is opening the door and walking out and-
“Ow!”
“Ack!”
Alfred is the first to return to his senses. “Oh, God! Sorry Arthur! I didn’t mean to, I mean…” he trails off, face red, unsure of what to say. “I was just gonna go out and look for you. Listen, I’m really sorry about earlier, I wasn’t thinking…”
And there’s that sad puppy look again, stuck outside in the rain.
Arthur sighs and rubs his temples with one hand. “No, you weren’t, you git. I suppose I’ll need to lend you some of my books, to get you acquainted with real literature.” He cracks the slightest of smiles, and that’s enough to bring every twinkling light back into Alfred’s eyes.
“So, what did coach want to speak to you about?” Arthur asks, striding back into the dorm and switching on the computer.
Alfred’s excitement is about ready to burst from his skin. “He said I was really something special! That he thinks I have major potential.” He pulls up a chair next to Arthur. “He wants to meet up, just him and me, every couple of weeks to practice! Maybe I’ll even have a chance of being professional…” a contented sigh escapes his lips, and he leans back. “Plus, he said he’s gonna help me work through some stuff.” He bites his lip, chewing on the plump skin. “Don’t tell anyone, alright? But, me and my dad don’t really get along. You see, ever since I was little, he had it in his head that I was gonna join the military. And, well…”
“You don’t want to?” Arthur opens a Word document and begins to type.
“Can’t,” Alfred bursts out, then stops, flushing bright red and covering his mouth. “Uh, well, it’s a long story, but no military for me. And my dad is pretty pissed about that, so we aren’t really talking. Coach said he would help me out with that, though! Isn’t he awesome?”
“He sounds fantastic.” Click, click. Why is Alfred telling him this, when he has a whole group of soon-to-be teammates just dying to be his friends?
“Yeah. Well, thanks so much for listening, buddy! You’re a great friend!”
With a sharp clap on the back, Alfred gets up.
“Don’t you have a chemistry test tomorrow, Alfred?” Arthur sighs, not looking away from the screen.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah. It’s okay though. That stuff is so easy.” And with that, he exits the dorm, whistling the Star-Spangled Banner.
Arthur pauses for one, two, three seconds, then sighs and pounds his fists on the keyboard. Why did Alfred have it so easy?
Just to clarify, the badtouch hasn't started just yet. =D
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Very nice anon, very nice!
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Oh, and Arthur's outburst. Oh, dear. I feel empathy. I've had my share of neurotic impassioned speeches about literature to idiots making fun of itXD complete with hugging of the book in question tooXD
Finally, just to tell you that I'm very glad you didn't go the "superopposites at war in high school", but just two guys with very little in common yet resigned to share quarters and strangely fond of each other in a way not even they cna epxlain...
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Tzipporah and Ludwig wave goodbye, as Matthew breaks off and takes hold of Arthur’s arm.
“Can I have a minute, eh?”
Student council is fantastic, Arthur decides, allowing himself to chuckle in earnest at the joke Matthew just cracked. The lad could be so funny at times. Plus, they kept him distracted from the looming terror of midterms. Arthur is sure he’ll ace the literature part, but as for everything else… His bed will need to be neglected in favor of studying for the next month or so.
Banishing such thoughts, he makes a mental note to thank Matthew for suggesting he join student council. These past few weeks have been the most stress-free all year. The crisp winter air, the scent of fresh baked cookies, the anticipation of Christmas…
“And Hanukkah!” Arthur hears Tzipporah chirp in his mind, and chuckles to himself once again.
However, there are a few things nagging at his sense of calm. First of all is, of course, midterms. Bloody stupid tests. Second would be the big holiday/end of midterms party, which, of course, student council will oversee all planning of. There will be no sleep for any of them, Arthur thinks with a groan. The third issue, however, he has been trying to repress, because it’s really not an issue, probably just his imagination, anyway, but why do people keep bringing it up? In fact, from the way Matthew is sitting, moving closer confidentially, Arthur knows exactly what’s coming.
“Hey, have you noticed anything weird with Al lately, eh? He seems different.” And there’s such concern brimming in those blue eyes, and Alfred’s probably just being dramatic… Maybe he got rejected by someone. Probably something silly like that.
Arthur doesn’t mean to snap when he says “You’re his brother, didn’t he talk to you about it?”
Matthew sighs and shakes his head, unaffected by the harsh tone. “Nah. We’re not really all that close. Parents are divorced.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “Don’t be. Dad was always a little uptight.” Suddenly his expression darkens. “Talk to him, eh? I’m worried about him, and he trusts you. Won’t shut up about you, in fact, when I can get him to talk.”
“I… What? He does?” Arthur is taken aback, for once at a loss for words.
“Yeah. Promise you’d talk to him, eh?”
Arthur gives a mock salute. “I give you my word.”
Matthew grins, and the mood increases considerably. They exit the room, laughing about nothing in particular.
YAY TITLE. I was listening to the song, and I was like "hai. that would make a good title."
These compliments are making me feel all kinds of warm fuzzies, thank you all so much! 8D
And, ehm, Tzipporah is my Israel oc that I've never actually used before. Like ever.
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So Arthur resigns himself to going back to the dorms, knowing Al will show up some time. He has studying to do, anyway. He wonders where his roommate has gotten to. It’s not like him to miss practice like that, since he loves the game so much. Loves his coach so much.
So it’s a real shock when the dorm room door creaks open and there Alfred is, sprawled on his bed, reading a comic. He grins at Arthur with pearly teeth. “Hey there! Dude, check out this comic Kiku leant me. It’s totally cool, even if it’s not American.”
Arthur blinks. Alfred seems perfectly fine, and perfectly negligent of his activities. He speaks, careful not to let his annoyance show.
“Alfred, don’t you have football practice?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah…”
“And why are you not there?”
Alfred makes a very unconvincing attempt to look sick. “Not feeling well. Headaches, stomachaches, the works. Y’know?” He coughs feebly.
Arthur glares at him, unable to believe himself. Here Alfred is, star of the football team, getting personal help from the coach for God’s sake, and he has the nerve to skip practice for a simple headache?
“Hey, don’t look at me that way! It was serious earlier! I took some of your pills, and that’s why I’m feeling better.”
“You… What?” Sure enough, the lid on his case of painkillers is askew, and his supplies are sufficiently depleted. “How many did you take?”
“Three or four…”
“Three or… Alfred!” Arthur rubs his temples. He figures it would be in bad form to lecture Alfred about taking painkillers while popping a few himself, but it’s so tempting…
Alfred bites his lip, leaving darker red marks on the pale pink. “It’s not so bad! I’m not, like, high or anything. Besides, Co- someone. Someone asked me to meet up later and he made me swear I would. I swore I would… So I gotta feel better.”
Arthur sighs, taking a tablet and going to the computer. “Alright, alright. Just don’t take any more medicine. I don’t want to have to deal with your dead body if you OD.”
Alfred grins. Arthur doesn’t see, but he’s know him long enough to know that Alfred’s got that silly, arrogant grin plastered on his face.
No need to turn to make sure.
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“So, the student council is planning to pay a visit to various classrooms tomorrow and promote this big winter party. And observe what the students like and dislike about these classes; we’re collecting information for when we can run for class president senior year. You cool with taking the A hallway, in the blue building?”
“Yeah, sounds fine.”
“All right! Anyway, I-” there’s a small, terrified squeak and suddenly Toris is whispering feverishly “Sorrygottagonicetalkingtoyoubye!”
Arthur sighs, and flips his cell phone closed. Behind him, the pages of the comic rustle. He checks the clock; nearly eight thirty. His stomach growls. He gets up, shrugging on a jacket. “I’m going to go to the cafeteria. Want me to bring you something?”
Alfred doesn’t look up. “No thanks. Not hungry. Oh, I might not be here when you get back. I’ll be back late, okay?”
“Oh, right.” Arthur teases. “You have a date.”
Alfred freezes, poised mid-turn of the page. His teeth are clenched as he hisses “It’s not a date. Don’t you dare call it that.”
And it’s so unlike Alfred to snap, to get angry over simple teasing, that Arthur cannot keep the shock out of his voice as he splutters and apology. He backs out of the room, still confused. Why had Alfred, known far and wide for taking everything in stride, gotten so upset?
Arthur shakes his head. Best not to dwell on the subject.
It’s not until he is sipping a cup of Earl Gray down in the cafeteria that he realizes Alfred hadn’t met his eyes once.
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Ten thirty. Still no Al. Arthur isn’t worried, not in the slightest. Nope. He picks up his towel and takes a nice shower.
Eleven. Arthur snuggles deep into the covers, savoring one of his last good night’s sleeps of the year. His eyes drift closed, and he’s out instantaneously.
~*~*~
It’s late when the door cracks open. Very late. Arthur’s eyes are still shut tight, drifting through dreams.
He doesn’t hear Alfred stumbling in.
He doesn’t hear the soft thump as he hits the floor.
He doesn’t hear anything, especially not the muffled sobs coming from the other side of the room.
Arthur sighs dreamily. It’s all right, he’ll forget all about it in the morning, anyway.
This right here totally isn't an excuse to make this part longer. Nope. orz
Thank you all once again for your compliments! I hope I'm still doing well. ^^;
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Well done Anon!
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It was the little lines that made me cry, the things we didn't see, oddly enough. Arthur not turning to see if Al was grinning. And the last bit? Oh god. Actual tears pricking at my eyes.
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There’s the alarm, having a jolly good time wrenching Arthur from his slumber. He groans and slams his fist down, missing the atrocious electronic and landing on the pointy edge of the bedside table. He howls, gripping his injured hand in agony and throwing the offending alarm clock against the far wall.
Well, at least he’s awake.
There’s shuffling from across the room. Alfred must be getting up, too. Arthur turns.
“Bloody hell, Alfred. You look awful.” He frowns. Maybe Alfred really was feeling sick yesterday, and he was pretty harsh… “Do you have a fever? Here, let me check…” He stumbles out of bed, reaching to press his fingertips to the other’s forehead.
Alfred shrinks back against the wall, holding up his hand, as if to protect himself. “N-no! I’m fine, really!” The grin he flashes doesn’t look quite right, but Arthur can’t bring himself to think on the matter this early in the morning.
“Alright, Alfred. If you’re sure.”
There is silence, uneasy and awkward. Something is troubling the normally easy atmosphere in the room.
“H-hey, Arthur?” Alfred’s voice is so small, so unlike him.
“Hmm?”
A pause. “We’re friends, right? Best friends?”
Shock courses through Arthur. What did he just say? What?
Alfred still won’t meet his gaze.
“Of course, Al, of course. Now, let’s get you some breakfast.” He gives his shoulder a soft squeeze.
This time, Alfred only flinches a little at Arthur’s touch.
---
They go their separate ways after breakfast. Arthur has some propaganda to spread, and he is fully equipped with flyers and confetti and the power of words.
He passes a few members of student council, armed and ready for battle, and they exchange high fives.
“…And that is why you should all come to the Winter Dance.” Arthur grins obnoxiously, trying to capture the essence of Alfred’s easy smile. It doesn’t work.
He coughs awkwardly, says a quick “good bye, thank you.” and hurries out of the classroom. So far, his advertising has gone rather well. Most students are excited, but, then again, it’s a dance.
Only a little bit left of the period. Time for one more class.
He opens the door, putting on a cheery smile. “Hello, I’m here for the student council. We just have a few things to talk to your class about.”
From the way some kids are grinning and others are groaning, Arthur can guess that some type of assignment has just been passed back. Something catches his eye.
It’s Alfred, prominent in the center of the class. And he looks miserable.
Suddenly, the speech doesn’t seem as important, but Arthur plasters his face with a grin anyway.
“Hello, Chemistry!” he exclaims, practically vomiting enthusiasm. It’s really quite sickening.
Alfred looks up, flashing him a glowing grin. Arthur guesses that whatever was bothering him, has been taken care of.
He gives his spiel. Go to the dance, it’ll be a lot of fun, there will be food…
The bell rings. Alfred shoots up, walking toward him.
“Mr. Jones, may I please speak to you?”
Everyone’s filing out. “A-alone?” he squeaks.
“Yes.” The teacher narrows her eyes.
Arthur gives an apologetic shrug. “I’ll talk to you after practice.”
He turns to go, but not before noticing the paper clutched in Alfred’s hands. Unit test, with a big, red F stamped on it.
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Maybe that was how they attracted their female fans.
In any case, this is not the reason Arthur is currently perched on the hard metal of the bleachers, trying desperately not to look at the turf.
“What’s wrong with you, Al?” one of his teammates is saying, removing his helmet and shaking out his glossy brown curls.
“Yeah, you okay, man?” another pipes up, the ball tucked safely under his arm. The ball Alfred had fumbled not once, not twice, but three times.
“Aw, man.” A third chimes in. “I bet he’s got girl problems. That’s the only thing that could keep a man from his football.”
The first one shoves the third, roughly. “Shut it, Bill. Just because you couldn’t get a girl to date you if she were blind.”
Bill turns red, then purple, then an interesting shade of green.
“No, guys,” Alfred puts in, wearily. “It’s not girl problems. It’s nothing, okay? Just not myself today.”
You can say that again. Arthur thinks. He doesn’t want to move from his safe position on the bleachers to interrupt the guys in school most capable of breaking his face.
“Oh, I think I know what it is.” Bill has apparently decided to keep talking. “It’s that nerdy little Englishman. The one with the weird eyebrows.”
Arthur touches his eyebrows self consciously.
“You’re not having girl problems, Al, you’re having boy problems.”
Arthur wants to smack the sneer right off his face. He half expects Alfred to, but Alfred merely sighs and turns away. Bill isn’t worth his time.
“Whatever, Bill. C’mon, Vince. Let’s go.”
The one with brown curls nods.
“Or maybe, it’s coach.” Arthur isn’t close enough to see Alfred’s expression freeze, but he hears the grin in Bill’s voice. “You always spend so much time with him, those private sessions… Who knows-”
Alfred’s fist connects with Bill’s jaw.
Bill tumbles to the ground, and Alfred is on him in a second.
“How-” punch “dare-” punch “you-” punching, punching, not stopping, even as Vince shouts and coach runs over. “What do you think I am?” Bill has stopped fighting back. He lies limp on the ground, but Alfred doesn’t stop. “Some kind of whore? Some kind of fag?” Vince grabs Alfred’s arm, tries to pull his clawing, bruising hands back. “You bastard. I would never, ever…”
“Al! Stop!” It’s coach shouting, he’s grabbed the other arm. Alfred feels their skin brush, and he gasps and wriggles out of their grasp.
“Don’t… Don’t touch me.” He whispers, eyes wild, backing away. “Don’t you ever touch me. None of you!”
Arthur sits in openmouthed silence as Vince and Coach gently lift a whimpering Bill to his feet, and they slowly limp off to the nurse.
Alfred turns on his heel and runs in the opposite direction, toward the dorms.
Arthur thinks he can see the faint trickle of tears on his cheeks, but it’s probably a trick of the light.
Captcha: pinnacle of
x_x
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I feel so bad for him and it was my idea to put him through this the poor boy... *sighs*
:-)
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The bright smile on Alfred’s face dims a little. “Oh, uh, you saw that?”
“Yes I saw that, you git! What in God’s name is wrong with you today?”
Alfred winces. “Sorry, nothing’s wrong… Just tired, okay? It’s been a stressful week.”
Arthur frowns. “And what was with this morning, asking me if we’re best friends? And failing your Chemistry exam? I thought you said Chemistry was a piece of cake! Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
A slow, hesitant nod. “Just, ah, not really understanding what we’re doing in class, y’know?” Alfred perks up. His bad moods always seem to go away so quickly. “You could help me study! You’re smart, right? I mean, all you ever do is study and read and hang with the student council! Wouldn’t that be awesome?”
The sparkling teeth and grin are back. “So, tonight? I was gonna go see a movie with the team, but after today, I’ll be lucky not to be kicked off. Ah well.”
As that a note of relief in Alfred’s voice? Arthur thought Alfred practically lived for football.
“Well, uh…”
“Great!” Alfred gives him a sharp clap on the back, a little sharper then usual. “Well then, I-”
There’s a knock at the door. Arthur, flustered, mutters a faint “I’ll get it.”
It’s one of Alfred’s teammates. The one with the brown curls. What was his name?
“Hello, is Alfred there?”
Arthur nods. “Hey, Al. One of your teammates.”
Alfred scrambles to the door. He quickly mutters an “excuse me” and steps out into the hall, closing the door behind him.
Arthur stares at the white-painted door for a few seconds, hearing footsteps slowly get fainter and fainter.
Is he really that disposable? Just someone convenient to talk to when all of Alfred’s other friends are busy, and when they’re back, someone to leave behind?
This honestly doesn’t surprise him.
So why does he feel so upset?
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“Guess what, Arthur!” he practically shrieks, knocking the Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe to the floor.
The bottle of painkillers sits right by the bedside table, but Arthur figures it would be rude to shove a few in his mouth to prevent the oncoming headache.
“So I’m not cut from the team! I’m still gonna play, and I’ll even be starting out the championship game! You gotta come to the game, it’s… Well, it’s some time in March. But seriously! This is awesome.”
Arthur blinked. Alfred looks mildly hysterical. “So, let me be clear. You beat up one of your team members, and in turn you get to start out the championship game?”
“Yeah! Wait, no… Well, yes, but…” he shakes his head. “Whatever. It’s in the past. But this is great, ‘cause I get to stay at school! If I get cut, I’mma get kicked out of school, and God knows I don’t wanna see my old man. Scholarship and all that, y’know?”
“Wait, did you just say you’d get kicked out of school if you got cut from the football team?”
“Yeah. Sucks.” He shakes his head. Arthur opens his mouth to explain, but Alfred cuts him off. “Well, gotta go! Me and the team are catching a movie. They said it was cool if I came. They’re not mad. Isn’t that great? The team is so cool. Plus, coach won’t be there… See ya, buddy!”
With that, he pretty much bounced out of the dorm room, leaving Arthur sitting up in bewilderment.
---
Once again, it was late when Alfred burst back into their shared room, causing Arthur to shriek in surprise, which in turn causes Alfred to shriek and fall flat on his ass, shaking.
“Oh God, Arthur, don’t scare me like that. I thought you were her.”
“I was… Who?”
“Y’know, her! She’s coming for me, ohgodohgodohgod…”
“Alfred, what the bloody hell are you talking about?”
“Voorhees. Oh god, Arthur…” he whimpers and flips on every light switch in the room.
“Hey, turn those off! You’re wasting electricity!”
“But she could be here, ready to kill us all to avenge her son!”
Kill them all to… What the? Then it dawns on him.
“Alfred,” Arthur begins, cautiously. “Did you watch a horror movie?”
Alfred giggles hysterically. “They said it wasn’t scary… Those liars…”
And then Arthur starts to laugh.
“H-hey! S’not funny!”
“S-sorry Alfred,” he chokes out. “But it really is.”
Alfred whimpers, diving under his covers. “Y-you won’t be saying that when she shoves a stake through your neck!”
Arthur manages to stifle his laughter when he realizes that Alfred truly does look terrified. “Don’t worry, Alfred. I’m right here. I’ll protect you from the big scary monsters and crazy mothers with knives, all right?
“B-but I’m supposed to be the hero!” Alfred appears to be having a serious dilemma because of this.
“I’ll be the hero, just this once, okay?” Arthur chuckles again, turning back to his computer. “It’s just a movie, don’t think too much into it.”
Alfred nods, hugging himself under the covers, only partly out of fear. He seems to be struggling to put something into words. “Arthur, I need to tell you something. I-it’s about coach.”
Arthur sighs. More about coach? Really? Hadn’t he already heard from Alfred’s mouth about what a godly man he is, and on more then one occasion? “Is it important, Alfred? I really do have a lot of studying to do…”
There’s silence, this time for a long, long while. Arthur begins to wonder if he said something wrong.
“No. It’s not that important. S-sorry, Arthur.” And with those soft, sad, scared words, all of the happiness in the room is sucked out like a black hole.
I feel like such a tease right now. Arthur's gunna find out soon, I promise. Sorry if the story's kinda dragging. >.>
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