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pathos-logical · 5 years

Text

One Picture, a Thousand Words

Roman is a wonder that cannot be put to words, Logan a marvel that ink cannot capture. They try anyway.

Hoo, this sure was a labor of love! Love because I love @bleepblopbloop56 with all my heart and labor because HOLY HECK WAS THIS HARD TO WRITE. But never mind any of that, because HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my friend!!! I absolutely adore you, and I hope your year is as fantastic as you are!!!

Trigger warnings: Food mention; a joking mention of hallucinations. I think that’s it, but please tell me if I need to add something!!

There are a thousand words Logan could use to describe Roman. He would pull a Shakespeare and invent a thousand more if it meant finding a word that could accurately chronicle the tapestry of Roman, all colorful patches and carefully stitched seams. But Logan is no artist, and his words seem an inadequate medium.

Beautiful, he thinks and immediately discards. That is too obvious, the truth of it plain to see. Lovely is- better. More intimate. But too soft, perhaps, for Roman’s flame-edged hair, the bronze of his skin and the steel in his spine.

He has tried countless words, none of them quite right. Larger-than-life. (And no, his charisma and magnetic smile absolutely did not excuse the way he didn’t seem to know how to shut up.) Captivating. (Roman did have a way with words, when he wasn’t being an idiot.) Extraordinary. (He was quite the artist and actor.) Brilliant. (Again, Roman was rather intelligent when it came down to it.) Perfect. (Technically impossible. But.)

All those words he longs to say, not one spoken aloud.

(Or- once. Alone in his room, he had tried the shape of mine on his mouth, thought about how it tasted on his lips and imagined the look in Roman’s eyes if he ever dared to say it in front of him. Once, and never again.)

Oh, he wishes. But Logan has always been better with words on the page than to other people.

Well, he thinks, looking down at the piece of paper in his hands, I suppose that’s what this is for. His eyes rove over the paper, skimming over phrases without really taking them in. If he reads it he’ll try to fix it, and at this point there’s too much of his heart in the words for him to change them.

He looks at the last paragraph. It’s the kind of declaration he sneers at in the romance novels Roman so adores, the kind of thing he would’ve sneered at barely years ago. But Roman always did have a way of making him question things he’d taken for postulates- himself included.

I tried, over the course of this letter, to pin down what exactly about you has drawn me so irrevocably into your orbit and left me floundering in unfamiliar space. However, as the length of this might indicate, I soon discovered that I could not.

You know me. It is very rare that I find myself lost for words. But I find myself unable to find the correct words to describe you, or even the correct words. Not because I have run out of things to say, or even because you have left me speechless, but because I could use a whole dictionary of love letters and fail to find the words that capture the way your eyes shine in the light when you laugh at your own jokes, and all the cliches in the world cannot express how I feel about every mundane, breathtaking thing about you.

But despite all that, I have three words for you, Roman, and I suppose there is no better day to deliver them than today (as of the day you receive this, at least).

I love you.

Roman has a sketchbook no one but him has ever seen.

The drawings are all in pencil, and Roman aches to paint them, to mix his colors until he finds shades that will truly bring them to life. But Logan is a peculiar kind of monochrome, with his navy hair and black polo shirts and countless blue ties, and Roman fears that no amount of paint could do that justice.

It’s undeniable that the warm brown of Logan’s eyes is a color he itches to find in a colored pencil, that the almond of his skin is one he longs to see redden at his touch. But those aren’t the things he really wants to capture when he puts pencil to paper anyway. No, when he draws Logan, his focus is on the subtle gleam that comes to his eyes when he speaks about something he’s passionate about, the curl of his lips when his emotionless facade breaks at some stupid comment Roman made.

Roman wishes he could show Logan the notebook, sometimes, the days when his longing overpowers his surety in the fact that it could never be reciprocated. He imagines coffee-colored eyes looking through the pages with delight, taking in the devotion clear in the meticulous lines. He pictures the hands he’s spent hours perfecting skimming over paper, taking care not to smudge the lead.

(He sees disgust settling in the curve of Logan’s lips and rejection showing in the set of his shoulders, and he pushes away the thought and hides his notebook under his pillow, pretends that he hasn’t memorized the shape of Logan’s smile.)

But he doesn’t think of any of that today. It’s Valentine’s Day, and Roman is dressed for it. He dons his armor that he definitely did not spend a whole two hours deliberating on and sets out the door armed with a kind of desperate false bravado, which is immediately undermined by how he jumps at his roommate Patton’s encouraging “go get ‘im, tiger!” shouted through the walls.

Still scowling at the door behind him, Roman briefly debates how desperate a text will make him sound before deciding, screw it.

Hey, we still on for lunch at Cream of the Cup?

The reply is prompt, as always, and Roman makes a futile attempt at smothering the smile he knows is blossoming across his lips.

>> Of course.

I’ll see you then!

Roman can so do this.

Virgil I can’t do this

>> why not?? youve been planning this for weeks, youll bbe fine

actually, knowing you, orobably months

Jfkdkfkfkfk

it’s

LOGAN

>> im aware, weve only veen best friends for years now

…

if yoy send a long rambling text ahout how wonderful logan is and how you dont deserve hkm im gonna lose it

roman i swear to god

HE’S JUST SO SMART AND AMAZING AND I’M JUST ME I DON’T DESERVE HIM AND WHAT IF I SCREW THINGS UP BETWEEN US FOREVER AND HE HATES ME OR WHAT IF IT’S AWKWARD I’M OKAY WITH JUST BEING FRIENDS REALLY HE PROBABLY DOESN’T EVEN LIKE ME THAT WAY ANYWAY I MEAN WHY WOULD HE

Whoops sorry

>> youre not

I’m not

But

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

>> okay roman, listen up, because I’m only gonna say this once.

first of all, cut it with the self-deprecating crap. one, that’s my thing. and two, I WILL pull a patton and fight you.

stop doubting yourself, it doesn’t suit you

I might not have known you as long as I’ve known logan, but I know

I can see you typing. shut up.

maybe I haven’t known you as long as I’ve known Logan, but I do know you’re a good guy, and you /clearly/ love him

KSKFKFKKFKGD W H A T

>> yes, everyone knows, no, Logan does not, LET ME FINISH

it means a LOT to him that you actually read the articles he sends you about mars rovers at 3 am and that you don’t tell him he’s annoying for infodumping about alpha centauri or whatever star system he’s planning to go to and that you deal with his hypocrisy about sleep schedules and his general inability to do emotions

also, knowing him for years means I know his type, and trust me, you’re it

and even if by some miracle he doesn’t like you back, you guys are too close to ruin your friendship. okay? so however this ends, I promise you’ll still be friends

>> But

ROMAN

listen, you don’t tune him out when he starts babbling, and he does the same for you. he loves listening to your rants about art theory, he goes to every single one of your shows, and he started learning Spanish just to impress you. yes, he’s learned more phrases than just insults, he’s just been hiding it so he can surprise (aka impress) you later

and roman? he really really does value your friendship. you know that we’ve known each other since forever, so you know I mean it when I say that I’ve NEVER seen him get so close to someone this quickly.

and… you’ve been good for him too, okay? he’s not really the type to get lonely, but that’s just because he gets so tied up in his giant brain he forgets there are people in the outside world to talk to. but it really is important to him that you’re always there for him, and… I can tell you right now that he’s told me how much he appreciates you for it

after all that? I’d say he loves you too, dude. go for it.

you can talk now

Holy heck you DO love me

>> eh

Holy HECK

Wait

Did you turn on autocorrect just to yell at me???

>> Only for you, babe.

Please never do that again

yeaj that was oncredibly unconfortable

now GO GET YOUR MAN

Roman, for all his theatrics about love at first sight and true love’s kiss, hadn’t mentioned Valentine’s Day plans once in the weeks leading up to it. Then, exactly one week ago, he’d texted Logan with a simple request to meet up at a nearby cafe. Logan knew him too well to miss the possible connotations of such an invitation. But it was entirely possible that this was merely meant to be an outing between two friends. A platonic outing.

A platonic outing where there was barely room to stand, forget sit. Logan curses under his breath. He’d decided for once to not show up fifteen minutes early, as that would only give him more time to second-guess himself, especially as Roman was notorious for being chronically late. But he had failed to account for the obvious fact that, it being both a Saturday and Valentine’s Day, the usually quiet cafe is filled to the brim with couples ordering the heart-themed specials and kissing and generally clogging the air with sweet words and PDA. And no, Logan is not irrationally annoyed about this, he’s just worried he won’t be able to secure an empty table for him and Roman.

But just as the thought crosses his mind, he catches a familiar head of fiery hair at a table against the wall, bent over his phone and apparently completely absorbed by whatever he was looking at. An incredulous “Roman?” slips from his lips unbidden, because- well, Roman had once nearly been late to the first show he was the lead in. But there he was, reserving a table at exactly 12:30 with a croissant in front of him. Maybe today really was a day for miracles.

He watches with amusement as Roman jumps and looks up at the sound of his name. His face lights up as soon as he registers who it is, and Logan abruptly goes from amused to filled with some kind of fluttery warmth he doesn’t want to quantify.

“Logan!” Roman exclaims, hurriedly tucking his phone away. “Hey! How are you?” His smile beams out like the sun, but it dims upon Logan’s next words.

“Not well, unfortunately,” Logan informs him gravely. “I fear I have been having severe auditory and visual hallucinations. For example, I am currently experiencing one so vivid that I believe I am conversing with a friend in a cafe when I know that there is no chance of him being here yet.” Maybe Logan should feel bad about the way Roman’s expression morphs from worry to alarm to overblown outrage, but the challenging gleam in his eyes arrests him as surely as that of of Roman’s heart-shaped studs, and he can’t bring himself to regret it.

“Hey, I’m not always late!” he protests so loudly several patrons turn to look at him, perhaps expecting a scene.

Logan can’t help the smirk that creeps across his face as he slides into the seat opposite Roman, surreptitiously tucking a navy blue folder besides him. Thank goodness for Roman being typically Roman and reserving a booth that could seat six for a party of two. “Roman. Once Virgil and I deliberately told you to meet up an hour after we were actually supposed to meet so that when you inevitably showed up late, it would only be by five minutes rather than fifty. And the very idea that you could be on time for something went so flagrantly against the laws of the universe that the universe struck back by making your car break down, and you missed the meeting entirely.”

“Is that what happened?” Roman asks, looking so genuinely gobsmacked that Logan can’t help the snicker that escapes him. Roman’s expression flips to one of self-satisfaction, and Logan tries to ignore the little burst of fondness in his chest at the sight. Even if the rest of today goes horribly, at least he can savor this easy banter between them.

And banter they do, debating over whether Logan’s physics professor or Roman’s marketing professor is more inept before commiserating over the “perpetual hell week” that is college. They bounce from the disappointing latest installment of one of Roman’s favorite series to a terrible documentary on aliens Logan had found on a “science” channel (“It’s called a having a basic grasp of eighth-grade geometry, Roman- which, unlike this nine-thousand year old civilization, these morons have clearly never achieved!”) to every little thing in between, their food forgotten in front of them.

It’s nothing special, technically- they’ve been friends for years now, and they often have talks about everything and nothing. But today Logan can convince himself that an electric current is charging the air between them, flushing Roman’s cheeks and lighting up his eyes as Logan is drawn in, helpless against his magnetism.

There’s no decisive moment where Logan thinks, this is it. There’s just Roman, his laughter like bells in the breeze, and Logan, gazing at him like he’d put the stars in the sky.

“Roman,” he says. That’s it- Roman.

Roman is still giggling at his rendition of the student who’d spilled their coffee on the drama professor on the first day, but he sobers at whatever look is on Logan’s face. “Hey- you good, Lo?”

The nickname catches at something in Logan’s chest, pulls it open so the next words come just a little harder, just a little easier. “Roman,” he says again, looking down. “I do not wish to… ruin the mood, but I have something to confess.”

(He’s looking down, so he misses the way Roman jumps at the last word.)

But when he meets Roman’s eyes, open and curious, Logan’s confidence abandons him. He exhales slowly in an attempt to regain some of the feeling from before, like the memory of Roman’s voice will fortify his. But all that comes out is: “I wrote- would you-”

Logan’s throat fails him entirely, something a little like dread and a little like hope clogging it up. Without another word, he slides the folder he had kept tucked at his side to Roman. When Roman raises a curious eyebrow, Logan simply smiles- a quick, brittle thing- and motions for him to open it.

Earlier, the noise in the cafe had distracted Logan, had made him frown when it rose over Roman’s voice. But suddenly it all fades into the background, the chatter of voices and clatter of spoons receding in favor of the thwip of the folder opening, the little breath Roman takes when he reads the first two words.

Dimly, Logan thinks he must have used up all his words in the letter. His fingers lay still at his sides, mind is utterly blank as he watches Roman read it. But his heart is pounding loud enough that for an absurd second, he’s sure Roman can hear it in the sudden quiet.

Logan waits for a minute, maybe five. He thinks he’d wait for Roman forever if he asked. But Roman doesn’t make him wait that long, because when he looks up his eyes are wet with tears, and when Logan uselessly opens his mouth- to do what? His voice certainly hasn’t returned- Roman lurches forward, clumsy in a way Logan has never known him, and seals their lips with a kiss.

And when they finally draw apart, Logan thinks he’s regained his words (or maybe just these three), because they force themselves out of his lips like they’ve been waiting to do so since Logan said Roman’s name. And Roman, his face a study in the kind of shock and delight that can only come from a thought-to-be-hopeless dream coming true, returns them.

#logince #roman sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #my writing #a whole dictionary of love letters

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magic-magpie · 7 years

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Say You Love Me

Hey, so I wrote a lil’ UsUk oneshot. ^^ You can find it (and my other fanfics) on my Fanfiction account - AA Addict. Although, I did make that account when I was eleven meaning that most of its content is actual trash. I did a review of my first ever fanfic... I might post it here. I’m good at cringe reviews, but only when the cringe is my own cringe.

It’s 4,304 words, just to let ya know.

“Hey, Artie?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“Likewise.”

“...Aren’t you ever gonna say it back?”

Arthur slumped down into his chair, head in hands. Alfred F. Jones, his American boyfriend, had just stormed out of the apartment after an argument, leaving it feeling rather large, empty, and quiet.

It was an argument over the stupidest of things. Honestly, who cared if Arthur had never uttered the words ‘I love you’?

Alfred did, apparently. And to an extent, so did Arthur.

The first time Alfred had declared his love was five months ago, after four months of dating. They had just come back from dinner at a swish restaurant, and after a round of sweet sex Alfred had blurted it out – ‘I think I love you’. He’d blushed, laid his head on Arthur’s chest so that they weren’t maintaining eye contact, then said in a bit of a whisper, ‘Actually, I definitely love you’. Arthur remembered feeling like he was higher than Cloud Nine, a giddy sensation arising within him and his heart pounding a million beats per minute. He didn’t like to admit it, but he was fairly certain he had abandonment issues (probably due to his past relationships), and hearing Alfred proclaim his love had given him full assurance that Alfred was the one.

At that point, Arthur definitely loved Alfred too. He was happiest when with him, not to mention he felt safe and secure, even when they were doing completely wild activities such as skydiving and bungee-jumping. However, he just couldn’t say it. The words got stuck in his throat every time he tried to say them, he choked on them, his lips refused to allow them to form. He wanted so badly to say it, but failed whenever he tried. And so he only said words akin to ‘likewise’ in response to Alfred’s frequent declarations of love. He felt terrible whenever he did so, for Alfred’s sunny disposition would always become slightly clouded, but what could he do? Alfred had seemed to understand, until now.

“Why do I need to say it back? I’m sure you understand what I mean perfectly.”

“I DO, but it’d still be nice to hear you say it.”

“It’d be nice to hear me say a lot of things, but I won’t say them, will I?”

“Come on! What’s so bad about saying ‘I love you’?!”

“Nothing’s BAD about saying it, I just don’t want to!”

“...You don’t want to?”

“Exactly. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish this embroidery.”

“Say it.”

“For God’s sake Alfred!”

“Say it!”

“No, alright?”

“Just say it, PLEASE! It’s not HARD!”

“It is bloody well hard, I’ll have you know!”

“It’s not hard to say the truth, Arthur! Unless it’s-”

“You know perfectly well that it’s the truth, Alfred, so don’t even go there.”

“Then SAY IT!”

“Life’s not Hollywood, Alfred! We don’t need to give extravagant declarations of love in order to show that it’s there!”

“Come on, just SAY it! For me, then! Say it for the Hollywood sap who’s stuck by you!”

“You don’t get to order me to say anything, git. I don’t want to say it, so get that through your thick skull.”

“...Fine. Later, loser.”

“WHERE are you going?”

“Takin’ a walk. Love ya. Even if you don’t return the feeling.”

Arthur would never forget that expression Alfred had. Disappointment, sadness, anger, all in one. Tears had welled up in his blue eyes.

The first time either of them had made the other cry.

He willed himself not to burst into tears, but it was hard. They’d argued before, but never to the extent that either of them had walked out. The last time he’d had a partner walk out on him, they’d split up the next day. The time before that, his partner had cheated on him. And the first time it happened, he’d never seen the man again. He’d never loved any of them the way he loved Alfred, but it had still hurt.

A wave of panic crashed down on him. What if Alfred did the same?

No, Alfred couldn’t possibly leave him. He’d said ‘I love you’, for crying out loud! And even when walking out he’d reiterated it! There was no way Alfred would break up with him.

Right?

Horrible, terrible images flashed through his mind; Alfred chatting up some bloke at the pub, taking him to a sleazy motel, hands that caressed Arthur’s body tugging at the other man’s belt instead; Alfred deleting all the sneaky pictures he’d taken of Arthur and sending him a break-up text; Alfred never contacting him again; the worst image, however, had to be that awful, ghastly one where Alfred, in his anger and despair, ran out onto the road without looking both left and right and was thrown into the air like a rag doll by a speeding car, dead before he hit the ground.

And that was the image that wouldn’t leave his mind.

Taken over by an overwhelming sense of fear, he reached for his phone and brought up Alfred’s number.

-Alfred?

-Are you there?

He waited with bated breath, his heart in his mouth. Deep down he knew it was stupid to be worrying like this, but there was a minute chance of his imagination becoming reality.

“Come on, reply...” he willed. Arthur didn’t have an iPhone, meaning that he didn’t know whether Alfred was typing or not, so he just hoped against hope that Alfred was either typing, or hadn’t checked his phone.

Suddenly, his notification tone rang out and the screen lit up, informing him that Alfred had responded. Relief washed all over him. Alfred was safe. He opened the text.

-Yeah

His heart sank a little. None of those blasted emoticons or developed replies characteristic of Alfred.

-Good. Don’t die.

Alfred’s response came a couple of seconds later, like he was eagerly awaiting each text too.

-Er what

-You heard me. Don’t bloody die.

-Hella random much

-Out of context, more like.

-Can i get context

-Wait im suppoed t b mad at u

-Its hard

-How dya doit

Arthur was trying to respond with ‘Look, I’m sorry, come back home and we’ll make up, how about that? I’ll take you to McDonalds too, if you want.’, but his insistence at texting with brilliant spelling, grammar, and diction meant Alfred could get his texts in much quicker.

-Ok imma stop txtinf now

-Off to b mad

-Love ya bye

Arthur quickly pressed send, hoping that Alfred wouldn’t be able to resist texting him back, but it was no use. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen, and before he knew it he’d been staring at the screen for half an hour.

He wasn’t texting back.

Slumping back down into his chair, he was mildly surprised to find that his cheeks were wet with tears. Fuck, that’s not supposed to happen. He furiously wiped them away then glared at his phone. Just who the hell did Alfred think he was, reducing him to blasted tears?

But I made him cry first. Isn’t payback grand?

God, Arthur’s anger wasn’t even justified. It was confusing, sitting there seething and upset when he had no cause to be. He was the one who refused to tell Alfred that he loved him. Alfred made sure that he said the three words at least once each day, usually accompanied by a sweet, chaste kiss. He had every right to be irritated with Arthur, even if Arthur hated it. Stupid Hollywood sap.

“That’s it!” Arthur cried out loud, struck by an insane yet brilliant idea. If he wants a Hollywood declaration, he’ll get a Hollywood declaration! The idea was cheesy, over-the-top, and stupid, just how Alfred liked it.

He jumped out of his chair, strode out of the living room, snatched his keys up, exited his apartment and slammed the door shut a little too hard, got the lift down, marched through the doors, unlocked his sleek black car, and drove. It was late (the time had just gone nine), but he figured Tesco would be open – if the superstore upheld its Open 24/7 policy, that is. He was also incredibly lucky that Valentines Day had been a week ago; there would’ve been no chance of finding these decorations had it been any other time of the year.

Arthur looked around the room, satisfied. Helium heart balloons were dotted around his living room, all bearing some variation of the three words Arthur had such trouble saying. He’d pinned up banners reading ‘I love you’ over the sofa and television, and had sprinkled pink confetti hearts everywhere (some had got stuck in his hair, much to his chagrin). On the dinner table he’d put a candelabra with new red candles, and laid out the table in a manner fit for the Queen.

It made him cringe, but so did Hollywood.

The oven pinged, and Arthur checked out his lamb roast. He frowned; the instructions had said to roast it for an hour after lowering the temperature, but it looked far too raw – he wouldn’t be surprised if it started bleating right there. Furthermore, the potatoes looked undercooked. Honestly, he thought, shoving the cookbook back into his cupboard irritably, who on Earth allowed this travesty to be published?

Letting it cook for a while longer, Arthur went back into the living room and collapsed on the sofa, exhausted. Decorating was no small feat, and it turned out that Tesco hadn’t had any Valentines Day decorations, meaning that he’d had to go drive to every other store until he finally found some. Cooking also took effort, although he didn’t dislike it. No, the most exhausting thing of that night was being distressed. The number of times he’d checked his phone in the vain hope that Alfred had tried to contact him was innumerable, and each time had left him a little bit sadder.

Arthur checked the clock – it was midnight. And Alfred still wasn’t back.

Suppressing the rising paranoia, he busied himself by going over what he’d say to Alfred. First came the apology, of course. Then came the explanation for why he had so much trouble saying the words. And then, finally, he’d say it.

Simple. Theoretically.

Time ticked on, and there was still no sign of Alfred. All he could do was hope that Alfred was planning on coming home and remaining his boyfriend.

He switched the television on and searched through the channels whilst he waited. He flicked past hospital dramas, crime shows, teleshopping, bad films, all of which Arthur abhorred. Not bothered enough to put a film in himself, he just kept it on a Hollywood romance. If he remembered correctly, Alfred and himself had seen it before. They’d been huddled on the sofa sharing a blanket and popcorn, Alfred resting his head on Arthur’s shoulder and periodically lifting it to give Arthur an affronted look as Arthur delivered his scathing commentary on the vapid film. And now, as he watched the movie by himself, it was just as dull and uninteresting.

So dull, in fact, that he could feel his eyes closing. No, stay awake, idiot. He tried to force his eyes open, but they kept battling against him until he finally surrendered to the call of slumber.

Alfred had better be here when I wake up.

“Artie?”

Something was shaking him.

“Artie, I’m back.”

This something sounded nice, if irritating. He tried to push it away, but he was too sleepy to put any sort of effort into it.

“I brought McDonalds, if you haven’t eaten.”

The thing shaking him sounded familiar. The accent, there was something about the accent. It didn’t sound English. More like...

“...Alfred?”

“Yep, it’s me.” Alfred chuckled. His eyes were shut and he was groggy, but he sensed Alfred was close.

Wait.

Alfred was back.

All exhaustion forgotten, he shot up so he was standing and pulled Alfred into a crushing hug, arms wrapped tightly around his body. Relief flooded through his veins as Alfred reciprocated, lacking none of the usual warmth.

“Thank God,” Arthur breathed. He then kissed him hard, keeping their bodies pressed together and swaying on the spot. Alfred tasted of salt and ketchup, weirdly enough, but Arthur didn’t care and just kept kissing him, loving the feel of Alfred’s lips on his, loving how they moved against his in such a way that turned him to jelly, loving how Alfred kissed him with such devotion and love – loving Alfred.

“Hah,” Alfred said once they broke apart for air, “Missed me?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Arthur replied snippily. Now that the relief and joy of Alfred’s return had sunk in, he was left with the anger of Alfred’s departure. “You can’t just walk out on me!”

“I brought McDonalds back, so it doesn’t matter, eh?” Alfred said, grinning nervously. “Though it does smell like you’ve cooked dinner...”

Arthur blanched. “Shit, the dinner.”

He took out the charred lamb roast whilst Alfred wafted away the smoke, and set the burnt dinner down onto the countertop. Alfred gave a low whistle.

“How long did ya leave that in?”

“What time is it?”

“Half two.”

“Three hours! I knew I shouldn’t have slept,” Arthur said bitterly.

“Hey, cheer up, it’s just as burnt as all your other stuff!” Alfred teased, grinning when Arthur shoved him.

“Shut up, I’m still mad at you.”

“Yeah, about that – how do you even do the angry thing? I tried, and all that ended up happening was me hiding out in McDonalds crying my eyes out wanting to come back. I got free food though, so that’s something. I guess I was angry at you, but not in the way that you do it... You get angry,” Alfred said, laughing slightly.

“You were crying?” Arthur said, stricken.

“Crap. Er, maybe?” Alfred answered sheepishly.

“Because of me.”

“I guess...” Alfred sounded rather reluctant to admit it. Arthur sighed. What was he doing, being angry at Alfred?

“Sorry,” Arthur murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of Alfred’s face. “I’m not a very decent person, am I?”

“No, you are,” Alfred said immediately. Arthur smiled.

“Rhetoric, Alfred. Anyway, you shouldn’t be trying to make me feel better – I should be working to make you okay.”

“Is that what all those decorations were about?”

“Um,” Arthur said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, “Yeah. Cringey Hollywood crap and all.”

“Wait, what? Hollywood?” Alfred looked rather confused.

“Yeah, Hollywood. I thought I’d do something Hollywood-style for you, but the dinner screwed up and I slept, so I’ve forgotten my speech,” Arthur said. “Apologies.”

“Your... Speech?”

“I prepared a speech for when you came home. One with explanations and apologies and all that.”

“Dude,” Alfred said, shaking his head emphatically, “I don’t want a speech. All I want is for you to say you love me, honestly and easily and stuff.”

Alfred was looking at him with those big blue eyes Arthur adored so much - to this day he couldn’t pinpoint what one shade of blue they were. He’d fallen for Alfred a year ago, and ever since then he’d had a fascination with shades of blue. Ever since then, Alfred’s eyes had held all the stars of the universe – the most beautiful, wondrous eyes he’d ever seen. His past boyfriends’ eyes paled in comparison. Arthur had since grown to love every single part of Alfred, both physical and emotional. The way Alfred’s hair caught the sunlight, how Alfred would always try to cheer him up if he was feeling down, Alfred’s intoxicating, infectious laugh... He’d fallen in love with it all.

Just TELL him so!

“Alright,” Arthur said, and took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you.”

Alfred F. Jones, the best boyfriend he’d ever had by far, was looking at him expectantly, a little encouraging smile on his face. Arthur fiddled with the hem of his sleeve, and forced himself to maintain eye contact. It’d be easier to turn away and mutter it, but after everything that had happened, saying it to Alfred’s face was best.

“I,” he swallowed, suddenly feeling very hot and slightly uncomfortable. Come on, spit it out! “Alfred, I – I lo –“ Deep breath.

“I love you.”

He barely had time to see Alfred’s mouth stretch into a huge smile before he was being kissed like he’d never been kissed before. Fuelled by euphoria, Alfred and Arthur were kissing each other hard, Arthur’s hands fisted in Alfred’s hair and Alfred’s arms pulled Arthur close until their bodies were flush against one another. He felt a wonderful dizzying sensation when Alfred parted his lips, eagerly parting his own. Their mouths moved together and tongues worked perfectly to make the other weak at the knees, serving another reminder as to how perfect they were for one another. As they kissed, three words were repeating over and over in his mind – I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you.

After too short a time they were forced to break apart to breathe, but they stayed in the close embrace, Arthur now resting his head on Alfred’s shoulder and Alfred resting his on Arthur’s head. He still felt a little giddy, and... Oddly liberated? Like he’d been pulled out of the crushing depths of the ocean and could breathe freely again.

“See, it wasn’t difficult!” Alfred said happily.

“No, I suppose not... It felt nice, actually,” Arthur said. “I had so much trouble with it because... Well, I haven’t said it before.”

“Seriously?” He sounded surprised, for some reason. Arthur nodded.

“Well, yes. I can’t even remember a time I said it before today, platonically or otherwise.”

“But you’ve had loads of boyfriends before me!”

“Three hardly counts as loads, Alfred. Besides, I – I never loved them like I love you. They were fun for a while, but... I suppose they were right to leave me. I don’t think they were as right for me as you are. Plus,” he smiled a little, “Their departure meant your arrival. And I’d much rather have you, dear.”

“You have no idea how happy I am right now, dude,” Alfred said, and gently prised Arthur off him. “Like, seriously. Just wait here, alright? Or, er...” He looked around at the messy kitchen, “Go into the living room, actually.”

Puzzled, Arthur asked, “What are you doing?”

Alfred was already hurrying out of the kitchen and up the stairs, but he excitedly yelled, “Something I’ve been waiting for this day to do!”

Thoroughly confused, Arthur made his way into the living room where all the sickening heart decorations were. Honestly, he thought, all this fuss and drama over three little simple words. He remembered the way Alfred’s face lit up when he said I love you. His smile grew wider and his eyes sparkled like they contained all the stars of the galaxies.

Alfred burst into the room with a huge grin on his face and his arms behind his back.

“What’re you hiding?”

“You’ll find out in a bit.” Alfred winked. He shoved whatever was in his hands into his pocket and stepped closer to Arthur, put his hands on either side of his waist, thumbs gently stroking him.

“I’ve, er, kinda been waiting for you to say that. Since, like, three months ago. I didn’t pressure you into saying it, did I?” he said, expression oddly solemn. Arthur shook his head firmly.

“Alfred, do you honestly think I’d do something I didn’t want to just because you went out in a huff? I always wanted to say it, I just... Needed a little push, I guess,” Arthur assured. Alfred gave a little relieved smile.

“Cool. ‘Cause, y’know. I love you and I want to be with you for the rest of my life, and then in the afterlife too. We can ghost-kiss and haunt all those homophobes and stuff and just be that super-awesome couple that everyone’s jelly over and, y’know, cool stuff like that.”

“Why do you sound so nervous?” Arthur chuckled.

“You want that too, right?”

“Of course, love. I love you. And, for the record, I have a sneaky suspicion that one of my co-workers is envious of our relationship.”

“Cool.” Alfred closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if readying himself for something. Arthur’s eyes widened and he held his breath as Alfred got down onto one knee and took out a small blue velvet box.

“Are you-“

He opened the box to reveal a beautiful silver ring with a sparkling gemstone in its centre – the exact colour of Alfred’s eyes, he noted. Arthur stared at the ring, then at Alfred, not quite believing what he was seeing.

“Remember when we went to that big fancy mall three months ago – I went off to buy something and you bought your new headphones? Well, I bought this. I was – I was waiting for the day you’d say ‘I love you’ to propose, ‘cause I wanted to make sure you loved me back, and, well,” he gave a little nervous laugh, “You do.”

Arthur was still speechless, so Alfred continued.

“I – I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Being with you, it’s just... I’m the happiest when I’m with you. I know we haven’t been dating for as long as other couples, and I totally understand if you say no, but I think we’re both confident enough that no one’s better for us than the other. I could list the reasons we’re the best couple, but I’d be here a long time so I won’t. But I will say that you’re my favourite person, and I know you feel the same about me. So, I guess I should say the actual words.

“Arthur, will you marry me?”

Arthur was still in shock-mode. Was this happening? It had to be a dream, but there was no way it could be a dream, it was all too wonderfully real, too splendidly vivid. Alfred was actually proposing to him! Alfred actually wanted to spend his entire life with him!

“Those tears are happy tears, right?” Alfred said.

Alfred you fucking perfect idiot.

“Of course I bloody will!” Arthur cried, bending down himself to tackle Alfred into a gleeful hug. Alfred returned it with equal fervour and soon the two were on the floor, hugging and laughing for all they were worth. Arthur kissed him and knew that nobody else’s lips were suited to him, nobody else could hold him like Alfred did, nobody else could make him feel like life was perfect.

“Let’s put the ring on ya, then!” Alfred said, sitting up and picking up the small box. He took out the ring and slipped it onto Arthur’s finger. Arthur held it out so that it sparkled in the light, loving the way it looked incredibly like Alfred’s eyes (only Alfred’s were prettier).

“It’s beautiful.”

“The jewel’s that paraíba tourmaline you told me about once, d’ya remember? You said it looked exactly like my eyes.”

Arthur blinked and peered at the stone. “Oh, so it is!”

“I thought I’d give you one that looked like my eyes, and I got one for myself that looked like yours. So, y’know, it’s all that romantic ‘we’ve always got a little part of the other with us’ stuff.”

“Where’s yours?” Arthur wanted Alfred to wear his.

“Oh, it’s, ah, gimme a second...” he foraged around in his pocket and extracted another box – green velvet this time.

“Here, let me put it on you,” Arthur said eagerly. He took the box and opened it to see a silver band similar to his own, but with a shiny, smooth jade in the centre. Arthur’s breath hitched.

“Do – do you truly think my eyes look this splendid?”

Alfred planted a chaste kiss on his lips and rested his forehead against Arthur’s, looking directly into his eyes. “Well, I actually think your eyes are better, but this was the prettiest green gem I could find,” he said softly.

“Honestly,” he scoffed, trying to hide the fact that he felt all mushy and warm and fluttery inside. Hands shaking slightly, he took the delicate ring out of the box, held Alfred’s hand in his own and slipped the ring onto his finger.

“Beautiful,” Arthur murmured. He put his own ringed hand next to Alfred’s, admiring them.

Engaged.

They were engaged.

Arthur looked up excitedly. “We’re going to get married!”

“I know, right?!” Alfred squealed back. “We’ll have to start handing out invites!“

“And choosing a cake!”

“And getting tuxes!”

“And finding a venue!”

“And planning the decorations!”

“Oh, decorations! We have to have a chandelier!”

“And a chocolate fountain!”

“What about an actual bloody huge fountain!”

“Ohmigod yes, and don’t forget streamers!”

“Confetti!”

“Banners!”

“Orchestra!”

“Lava!”

Arthur spluttered. “Lava?!”

“I got really excited and said the first word that came to my head, don’t blame me!” Alfred laughed.

“No but, making the floor lava would be rather hilarious, don’t you think? And who else would be able to say that they got married on actual molten lava?” Arthur said, grinning.

“If you’re suggesting that we get married in a volcano, then I am one-hundred-and-forty-seven percent behind you.”

“Well, that’s the venue sorted, then.”

They looked at each other, and all of a sudden they were laughing until their sides hurt, laughing in the way that no one else could make them laugh. Alfred’s obnoxious laugh was loud, raucous, and infectious – just the way Arthur liked it.

When they finally stopped laughing, Alfred leant against Arthur and gave a small, content sigh. Arthur responded by putting his arm around him and stroking his hair softly. He still couldn’t believe his luck. He, Arthur Kirkland, was engaged to Alfred Foster Jones.

“Hey, Alfred?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Artie.”

#UsUk #Aph England #Aph America #Fluff #Fanfic #my fanfiction #Oneshot #Cute #what else do i tag

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