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Arthur pulled up outside of the house and glared up at it. There were plenty of Christmas lights, tastefully draped over windowsills and doorways. A wreath hung on the front door, a little crooked. Inside, lights were on and music was pounding and people were chattering: Arthur could hear it through the windows of his car. The party was evidently in full swing and it sounded like most of the people were already drunk.
“Well, get out,” he said to Francis. “I want to go home.”
“Oh, don't be like that,” Francis said, turning to Arthur to show him his pleading face. “Come inside. It's Christmas: it's time to have fun.”
“I don't want to,” Arthur told him sternly.
Francis sighed. “Arthur, mon cher, it is not going to be like last year-”
“Yeah, because, for one thing, I don't have a boyfriend to drag me along to it.”
Wincing, Francis shook his head. “Arthur... I know you have bad memories of Christmas parties but... it's been a year. You can't keep pining after A- him. And we're not at Elizaveta's this year. Gilbert's hosting this one so it won't look the same, you won't be reminded of anything. Come inside and take your mind off...” Francis trailed off and gave Arthur a concerned look.
Sighing, Arthur hung his head, unable to stop the memories from flooding in at the mention of the previous year's party. He had gone to Elizaveta's place at Alfred's insistence and had been having a good time, chatting to mutual friends and meeting new people. Then he had turned to find that Alfred was flirting with a girl. With the alcohol in his system, Arthur had been unable to stop himself from losing his temper and had confronted Alfred immediately. Alfred had gotten angry at his accusations and their quiet falling out became a blazing row, dredging up things that they had learnt to dislike in their few months of dating. When the argument had gotten too loud for everyone else, Elizaveta told them to stop or get out. Arthur had decided to leave and Alfred had gone back to the girl he'd been talking to. It had broken Arthur's heart but he'd slowly recovered over the year. Now, he felt like he could burst into tears at any moment.
Maybe forgetting about everything and having some fun would be a good idea.
“Fine,” Arthur said. “But I need a drink.”
“Of course,” Francis replied, looking much happier and rather relieved.
After parking the car in a better spot, they both got out and made their way to the house. Francis rang the bell and it was almost immediately answered by Gilbert himself. Grinning, he pulled Francis inside. “Franny!” he cried. “You made it!”
“Hi, Gil. Arthur's a life-saver, as always.”
“Too right I am,” Arthur grumbled. “Where's your alcohol?”
Gilbert's head whipped around when he heard Arthur's voice and his eyes widened. “A-Arthur... You're here!” He looked towards Francis, raising his eyebrows as if he could communicate that way. Francis only looked confused and glanced at Arthur. With a shrug, Arthur pulled the front door closed, deciding Gilbert was likely already drunk.
“Yes. You have Francis to thank for that. Are there drinks in the kitchen?”
“Uh, yeah...” Gilbert said slowly. “But, uh, why don't you let me get you it?”
Arthur snorted. “I don't trust you whatsoever,” he told him and darted around the bloke to make his way to the kitchen.
There, he found a long row of bottles and a column of plastic cups set up on a fairly clean unit. Several people were in the room, chatting and pouring drinks for themselves. A punch bowl had been set up on the table in the middle of an array of snacks. Amongst the party-goers was Matthew, Gilbert's boyfriend and Alfred's cousin. Arthur had been good friends with him before the mess with Alfred but, after the break up, he'd felt too awkward to get in touch with Matthew again and only spoke to him whenever he saw him with Gilbert. Taking a breath, Arthur headed towards him – and the rum which was sitting beside him.
“Hello, Matthew,” he said, giving his old friend a small smile.
Matthew, who had been taking a sip from his cup, spat his mouthful back in. Gasping, he coughed a few times and, when he had caught his breath, he croaked, “Arthur? What are you doing here?”
Grabbing the rum, Arthur frowned at Matthew. “Is it really so surprising? Francis insisted I-”
“Arthur!” came a cry and, turning, Arthur saw Francis rush into the kitchen. “You, ah, should you really be drinking? You have your car so you'll need to drive. Maybe... Maybe you shouldn't drink?”
“If I'm staying at the party with you idiots, I need to drink or I'll end up punching you in your precious face,” Arthur told him, proceeding to pour rum into a cup.
Francis paled. “That... That's really mean, Arthur. And... And if you drink, you'll be stuck here.”
Frowning, Arthur raised the cup to his lips. “Why are you so insistent that I don't drink? What's wrong with you?”
“Nothing!” said Francis, far too quickly. Arthur narrowed his eyes and he waved a hand rather dismissively. “Nothing at all!” he added with a laugh. “Just... trying to look out for you.”
“Why...?” Arthur asked, growing more confused by the second.
“No particular reason...”
“Mattie!” Gilbert suddenly shouted from the doorway. Glancing over, Arthur saw Gilbert look at him before quickly averting his gaze to Matthew, his eyes wide. “He's... y'know.”
“I'll be right there,” Matthew said and set his cup down, rushing off.
After watching them go, Arthur turned to Francis. “Who's 'you know'?”
“Nobody you know,” Francis said before suddenly being greeted by a passing woman. Arthur stepped back as another woman joined them and, since Francis wasn't paying attention to him any more, Arthur slipped away and headed out of the kitchen. Along the way, he took a sip of the rum, just to spite everyone. Then he made his way along the hall and to the large living room where the music was coming from. There were also loud voices coming from it but, with everything around him, Arthur couldn't make out voices or words. So, when he stepped into the living room, he was not expecting what he found.
Gilbert and Matthew were both there, trying to herd someone to the side of the room, away from the slightly tilted Christmas tree in the corner. The person seemed to be completely hammered as he swayed dangerously and grabbed hold of Matthew, hanging off him as the poor man struggled to keep them both upright. Arthur could hear sobbing and he drew closer, wondering if he could help since he was probably the most sober. However, as he moved, placing his cup down on a nearby table, he thought there was something familiar about the blond head on Matthew's shoulder. Then the man shifted and he spotted that cowlick and he froze, his heart stopping as he realised just what was going on.
Wailing, Alfred pushed himself upright. “Buh I don' wanna go sit down! I'll fall asleep and have dreams and he'll -” Alfred stopped as his eyes met Arthur's. Though Alfred's were terribly unfocussed and tears were rolling down his cheeks, he seemed to see Arthur clear enough. His eyes widened and he stepped back. “He's here,” he whispered to Matthew and both he and Gilbert turned to look.
“Oh, Arthur,” said Matthew, grimacing. “I'm so sorry...”
“Alfred,” Arthur murmured, not sure what else he could say.
For a moment, the room seemed to still, despite everyone else around them. Then Alfred lurched around Matthew and staggered towards Arthur. Startled, Arthur took a few steps backwards till he hit the wall. Unsure what to do, he could only watch as Alfred launched himself at him. Expecting a hit, Arthur flinched but, instead, Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur in a far too familiar embrace. Arthur froze, eyes wide, staring over Alfred's shoulder at Gilbert and Matthew who looked concerned – but, oddly enough, not as surprised as he thought they would have been.
“Artie,” Alfred sighed, right in Arthur's ear. Arthur shuddered. “You're heeeeeeeeerrre.”
“Yes,” Arthur murmured.
“I'm glad.”
“You... You are?” Arthur asked, frowning now. He tried to wriggle out of Alfred's hold but, as always, Alfred had a vice-like grip.
“I missed you!” Alfred told him, moving back so he could look at Arthur, staring into his eyes. Those words sent a pang through Arthur's chest as he blinked at Alfred, marvelling once again at how blue his eyes were.
“You did?” Arthur asked, still stunned.
“A'course!” Alfred declared, letting Arthur go in order to throw his arms in the air. He wobbled and, against his better judgement, Arthur allowed himself to touch Alfred, to grab hold of his arm and keep him steady. “I a'ways miss ya! You're not allowed ta leave again!” And, once more, he grabbed Arthur, squeezing him tight.
“A-Alfred,” Arthur gasped, struggling against his hold. “I-I can't breathe. Let go.”
“No! No, if I let go, you'll... you'll disappear again. I don't want you to disappear again. I don't want you to go.”
Arthur gasped, unable to stop himself, his eyes wide again. What was Alfred saying? He was the one who had wanted Arthur to go in the first place. Hadn't he? “Alfie...”
“Al,” Gilbert said, suddenly close. “You need to let go or you'll kill him.”
“Wha? No! Don' wanna kill 'im!” Alfred slurred, leaping back from Arthur as if he was too hot. Arthur took a deep breath as Alfred fell backwards, Matthew catching him before he could go sprawling on the floor. Alfred's head slumped forward and he groaned; evidently, the motion had been too quick for his level of drunkenness.
As Arthur caught his breath, trying to calm down, willing his heart to stop beating so fast, Francis rushed into the room. He looked at the isolated group and his eyes widened. Without prompting, he came to Arthur's elbow, gripping it and anchoring Arthur. There was a short silence. Arthur searched for something to say as he finally began to breathe normally again.
“Is he okay?” were the first words out of his mouth.
“More or less,” said Matthew, grunting as he hauled Alfred back up to his feet. Alfred leaned against him heavily. “He's... He's been drinking a lot since... since he broke up with Natalya.”
“Oh,” said Arthur, his heart breaking all over again. “I see. He's projecting.”
“No!” said Gilbert, quickly. “No, he's... heartbroken.”
“Because of Natalya,” Arthur agreed, rolling his eyes at Gilbert's stupidity. “That's why I said he's-”
“No,” Matthew firmly said, looking determined. “He's heartbroken because of you.”
“What?”
“Your break-up wasn't exactly clean,” Gilbert explained with an enigmatic shrug.
“Yes it was!” Arthur exclaimed, his voice rising as his anger grew. “He was-was basically cheating on me with that-that-!”
“Didn' mean it,” mumbled Alfred, startling all of them as he lifted his head. He blinked at them all before focussing on Arthur. Grinning, he said, “Artie. You're here.”
“We just-” Arthur began.
“I didn' mean it. Nothin'. Wasn' flirtin'. Not really.”
“Huh?”
“Jus' talkin'. Wouldn' cheat on ya. You're perfect.”
Turning red, Arthur shook his head. “You were... You were too close to her. And you were practically under the mistletoe.”
“'M'sorry. Not flirtin'. No kissin'.”
Looking around at the other three men, Arthur was met with shrugs and sympathetic looks. They had tried to tell him, several times, that it had probably not been what it looked like. But Arthur refused to go back to Alfred, to find out the truth. After all, that had only been part of it; the massive argument had sealed their fate. Recalling some of the things he had said to Alfred and not truly meant, Arthur realised that his issues were once again ruining Christmas.
Sighing, he stepped forward. “I think he needs to sleep this off. I'll take him upstairs and you lot can enjoy the party.”
“Are you sure?” asked Matthew, reluctant to let go of Alfred.
“Yes, I'm sure. I don't think I want to stay much longer, anyway.” Arthur gave Matthew a pained smile and, with a sad look, Matthew relinquished his grip on Alfred, carefully lowering him onto Arthur's shoulder. They watched him leave and he managed to stay mostly straight-backed till he left the room. Then he half-buckled under the weight of Alfred: he'd forgotten how much bigger and heavier than him Alfred was.
He managed to the stairs and then had to take a breather, wishing he'd asked for help. But, for some reason, he felt he wanted to protect Alfred from them. It was a silly feeling, considering they had obviously been looking out for him already, but he couldn't help himself. Once he had recovered somewhat, he began to climb the stairs. He instantly had to stop because Alfred, instead of walking with him, was now hanging from his shoulder, pressing his face into his arm. Now that he thought about it, his top felt a little damp as he shifted and he wondered whether Alfred had been crying.
“Come on, Alfie,” he said, hoping to appeal to him by using the old name. “I can't carry you up the stairs, you need to work with me here.”
“You smell nice...” Alfred mumbled into Arthur's arm. He took a long sniff. Then his brain seemed to catch up with his ears because he sniggered. “'Up the stairs'. You're takin' me t'bed.”
Hesitating, Arthur said, “Yes...”
“You'll strip for me, righ'?”
Flushing, Arthur readjusted his hold and hauled Alfred up one step. “Not if you can't get up the stairs,” Arthur told him, deciding to let him down later, once he'd negotiated the stairs.
“I can too!” Alfred yelled and, without warning, stumbled away from Arthur. Alarmed, Arthur had to catch hold of the bannister to keep himself on his feet and watched as Alfred tried to run up the stairs only to trip and fall forwards. It didn't deter him as he began to quickly crawl up the stairs. He was nearly at the top when he slumped and stopped.
Cautiously, Arthur went to pick him up again and found that he was sobbing into his folded arms. “Come on,” he murmured as he put his hands under Alfred's arms and tried to lift him.
“He's gone. He's gone,” Alfred said with such sadness that Arthur's heart ached.
“I'm here, I'm here,” he told Alfred, wrapping his arms around Alfred's chest to lift him the few steps onto the upper landing. Once he had, he sat down on the steps himself and panted a little. Trust Alfred to force him to exercise.
“Artie,” Alfred said, sitting up as well. “Need you.”
“I know, I know,” Arthur sighed and stood up again. He pulled Alfred to his feet and, somehow, managed to get him to walk in a relatively straight line to one of the guest rooms. It seemed he had picked the right one for, as he entered, he spotted Alfred's jacket hanging on the hook on the wardrobe. A quick glance around the room confirmed that he'd managed to find Alfred's room for the weekend, what with the mess and the recognisable clothes left lying in a pile.
“Artie,” Alfred whined as Arthur half-dragged, half-carried him to the bed. Alfred tugged at Arthur's top, his grip tightening as Arthur tried to lower him onto the bed.
“Shush, shush.” Taking hold of Alfred's hand, Arthur managed to pry it loose. “Just lie down. You need to sleep.”
“Don' wanna. You're 'ere. Wan' you.” And Alfred held up his arms, signalling he wanted a hug.
Again, Arthur hesitated. Then, relenting, he leaned forward and enveloped Alfred in a hug. He felt Alfred's hands on his back and he felt... Arthur felt as if he'd come home. Biting his lip, Arthur made to pull away but Alfred pulled him closer and he ended up falling on top of Alfred with a gasp. The way he had landed meant he was straddling Alfred's chest and, cursing under his breath, he struggled to get off the clingy man. After some moments, they ended up rolling to the side and that broke Alfred's grip; Arthur was able to roll off the bed and step away, panting, staring down at Alfred's heartbroken face.
Pain lanced through Arthur and he took a shaking breath.
“Artie...” Alfred pleaded, reaching out for him.
“Shush, shush,” Arthur said, hovering at the end of the bed. “Go to sleep.”
“No, no, you'll leave again,” Alfred cried, a sob cutting off any other words he was trying to say. “Please don't go!”
Giving in, Arthur shuffled forward and sat on the edge of the bed. “I'll stay with you till you fall asleep.”
A happy, blissful grin spread across Alfred's face. “Yay,” he murmured. “Love ya.”
Arthur's breath caught in his throat. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched Alfred roll over, nuzzling into the covers. Had what Alfred said been true? Did Alfred really love him? Maybe... Maybe there was a chance? But would Alfred still feel the same once he'd sobered up.
Making a decision, Arthur leant forward and removed Alfred's glasses to put them on the bedside table. Alfred whined when Arthur moved off of the bed but Arthur was quick to return and, after stroking Alfred's hair out of his eyes, Arthur bent down and pressed a kiss to Alfred's forehead. “Go to sleep, darling,” he said and watched Alfred's smile grow.