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Arthur loves the night. The air is still, like it has been during the day these past few hellish weeks, but blessedly cool instead. He has peace to think and space to walk and the cats are out, so what more could he need?
The stars glimmer overhead like so many eyes, his only witnesses. There’s the barest hint of light in the east. Arthur takes a deep breath and just stops on the corner, allowing himself to feel.
He hears a clatter from a few houses down and looks over in time to see a small figure slinking out of the shadow of some bins.
“Hey, lovely,” he murmurs, clicking his tongue softly as he strides over. When he reaches the curb he kneels, one hand outstretched.
The cat unfreezes in the middle of the road and pads towards him. It’s a white and grey ragged-looking thing, but friendly. It purrs as it rubs up against Arthur’s thigh and bumps its nose against his hand.
“You’re a gorgeous boy,” Arthur tells it. He can’t bring out his phone’s torch to check whether it’s actually a male cat, but he figures the cat doesn’t care so there’s no harm done.
He’s still scratching the cat’s back when he has to lean over and sneeze.
“Sorry,” he says when it jumps, but it doesn’t run away.
“Bless you!” a voice calls out.
This time it’s Arthur who jolts at the sound, and he falls over onto his ass. His hand clips the side of the cat’s rump and it yowls and swipes at him before darting away.
“Fuck,” he hisses, and has to wince as he runs a finger over the already puffy skin around his new scratches.
The door to the nearest house opens, spilling a shaft of light onto the street. “Dude, are you okay?!”
Arthur looks up to see someone rushing towards him. At first the other man’s features are cast too deeply in shadow to make out, but once he’s squatting by Arthur’s side, the Brit has a clearer view. Ruffled blond hair, big blue eyes wide with worry, thin glasses perched askew on his nose. Arthur curses again, silently this time.
“That was you?”
“Yeah, I mean I just paused my game and it happened and it was a loud sneeze.”
“It’s also the middle of the night.”
“I’m American,” the guy explains, as if that solves everything. “It’s kinda engrained in me to say it haha.”
“What the fuck,” is all Arthur can say.
“I mean you’re welcome?” the American tries.
“Right. Well…” Arthur shifts and moves to stand, though he pauses at the shocked gasp.
“Dude, you’re bleeding!”
“Yes. Thank you for pointing out the obvious. I’m going to go home now and take care of it.”
“You can come inside my place! It’s closer, right? You should get that disinfected asap.”
Arthur can’t help but to stare.
“…What?”
“Do you really expect me to walk into some stranger’s house in the middle of the night?”
“Oh. Right. Okay, so my name’s Alfred! And I’m in uni for programming and journalism and I promise I’m not a serial killer! There, now I’m not a stranger!” Alfred sticks out his hand. It wilts as Arthur keeps staring. “And I feel really bad cuz it’s my fault you’re hurt so please let me help?”
Arthur bites his bottom lip as he considers. “Alright,” he says eventually. “But be warned if you’re planning on trying anything, I do have a knife on me.”
Alfred’s eyes grow wider. “You do?!”
“You don’t expect me to walk around at night unarmed, do you? As safe as this neighbourhood is, I’d rather not take my chances with getting shanked.”
“Okay. Okay, that’s cool. We’ll just fix you up and you can go whenever you like. Promise.” Alfred unbends his knees and holds a hand out. “C’mon.”
Arthur takes it hesitantly and has to hold in a gasp as he’s yanked to his feet. “I’m Arthur. You’re strong.”
“Oh! Haha, thanks!” Alfred releases his hand and instead paws at the back of his neck. His face has gone decidedly sheepish as he hop-steps back towards his front door.
Arthur’s lips purse and he considers just legging it down the street home anyway. Had he really just said that aloud? But then Alfred’s calling him from the entryway and he trudges forward. Something warm and slick and sticky slides down his wrist. “Have you got kitchen roll or something?” he asks before he crosses the threshold. “I don’t want to drip on your floor.”
“Yeah, give me a second!” Alfred vanishes and reappears within a few seconds, thumping as he barrels to and from the kitchen. He returns with a tea towel, red with the classic white maple leaf embroidered into the corner.
“…This is very nice.” Arthur doesn’t take it.
Alfred waves it in front of his face. “Yeah! It’s my brother’s but he’s gone for a week with his boyfriend so he won’t mind!”
“As in too nice for me to bleed on.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine!” Alfred grabs onto his arm and wraps the tea towel around the wound, ignoring Arthur’s flinching. “It’s red anyway and I’ll do the laundry before he gets back and if he does ask I’ll just tell him it was me!” He shoots Arthur a bright grin before tugging him into the house and shutting the door.
Arthur feels as though he’s being pulled around by an overeager bulldozer. With a sigh, he relaxes into it and allows Alfred to lead the way to the bathroom on the second level. There’s a bedroom downstairs, but it’s void of any signs of being lived in. Two of the four doors upstairs are shut. One of the open ones is the bathroom; the other contains the messiest room Arthur thinks he’s ever seen. Still, he can’t help but pick out a few pieces of expensive tech from the disaster before he’s facing the white tile of the bathroom wall.
“How’s your arm?”
“I think it’s fallen off,” Arthur can’t help but to mutter.
Alfred’s eyes widen for a moment, before he bursts out laughing. “Good one, Arthur, but it’s just a cat scratch!”
They both still as a door opens nearby. A tall, broad, blond-haired man pokes his head into the bathroom, squinting against the light. “What’s going on?”
Alfred’s smiling again. “Hey, Ludwig! Did I wake you? Sorry! The funniest thing just happened-”
“Not that funny,” Arthur says.
Ludwig holds out a hand. “I didn’t ask. I’m sure I’ll hear about it anyway when Matthew and Gil come home.” He squints again as his eyes zero in on the tea towel, but he just shakes his head. “Coffee?”
“Sure! I could use a pick-me-up. Arthur?” Alfred turns to him, eyes bright.
“Uh- I don’t drink coffee.”
“Tea, then?”
“I- I shouldn’t impose much longer.”
Ludwig shrugs. “It’s fine. Earl Grey alright?”
Arthur can’t help but to nod. He’d say this is an odd household, but his own isn’t exactly normal either, with their weekly cook-offs and drunken game nights and crafting sessions. “Thank you.”
“Be in the kitchen when you finish here.” With that, Ludwig shuffles down the stairs.
“Whoops.” Alfred snickers.
“Whoops?”
The American waves the word off. “It’s fine, not the first time I’ve woken the whole house up. We’ve all done it at some point. How’s your arm?”
“You asked that not five minutes ago.”
Alfred just grins some more and unwraps the tea towel, slowing down when he sees Arthur’s wince. “Still fallen off, I see.”
“Ha. Ha.” Arthur scrunches his nose as he looks at the scratches properly in the light. Three lines down the inner side of his wrist, deep for cat scratches and still welling with blood.
“Shit, they’re kind of deep.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Alfred bites his lip, a furrow between his brows as he rummages around beneath the sink. “I just meant they probably hurt a lot. Sorry for causin’em.”
Arthur frowns as well. He groans softly, leaning his head against the tile. They’re not friends; they’re still barely strangers. He’ll have to watch his tone. “It’s alright,” he says. “It wasn’t intentional.”
“Are you okay?”
And suddenly, wide blue eyes pin him in place again. Arthur has to hold back a smile. “I’m fine. I’ll let you know if I’m not.”
“Okay. It’s just…your posture and stuff.”
“I’m fine,” Arthur repeats, promises, almost.
“Okay.” Alfred finally pulls away from the sink cabinet, a small first-aid kit in hand. He opens the box, then quickly slams it shut, his cheeks pinking.
“Is everything alright?” One of Arthur’s eyebrows shoots up.
“Yeah. Um, warning though. Matt and Gil and I always get joke band-aids, soooo…”
This time Arthur is less successful and his lips curve upwards. He holds a hand out. “Let’s see the damage, then.” The other eyebrow is quick to join the first when he sees the selection of Frozen plasters. “Charming.” Still, he carefully picks through the pile before removing a few with the reindeer on them. “I think these will do fine.”
“I usually go for those too,” Alfred tells him, still sheepish as he replaces the kit. “Here, lemme help clean that.”
“I can do it myself,” Arthur says, but doesn’t stop him.
Alfred’s hands are large and warm as they cup his wrist, cradle it as carefully as a newborn. Not for the first time, Arthur’s struck by how handsome the man before him is, hunched over in concentration with the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips. Arthur has to look away from the scene before his heart actually bursts out of his chest and flings itself at the American’s feet. It’s far too early to deal with feelings, or far too late; he isn’t sure. All he knows is that he hasn’t had remotely enough sleep to stop himself from looking even more like an idiot than he already must have.
“What’s your degree?” Alfred asks after a few minutes of silence.
“I’m doing literature, history, and linguistics.”
Alfred stops his ministrations to gape. “Three? You’re doing all three at once?”
Arthur’s cheeks heat up a bit at the attention. “I- Well, yes. It’s not that impressive, you’re doing a double degree.”
“Yeah, but yours is triple! I didn’t even know you could do that!”
“It’s a special case.” Arthur coughs. “The uni was hesitant to let me do it initially, but I had the grades to persuade them to give me the leeway to design my own course. It’s heavily mentored as well, I have to meet with my personal tutor at least once a month to have a chat about how I’m managing it.”
“That’s awesome!” Alfred’s entire face lights up. “Why’d ya choose to do it?”
Arthur has to look at the tiles again. He can hardly feel it when Alfred starts putting the plasters on; to have such bright, focused energy on him… He’s buzzing with adrenaline and exhausted at the same time. Not to mention that talking about himself had never been one of his strong points. “I’ve always been interested in the history and culture of England and the UK, how it developed and how the language and customs changed. It felt natural to combine the two. But what’s the use in looking at language and culture if you don’t look at the literature of the time? So literature was mixed up in it as well. I was considering tacking on medieval studies to it too, but I think the uni took one look at that plan and nearly had a heart attack.” He gives a small laugh and swallows as Alfred’s hand tightens on his. “I might do more medieval studies as a masters, though. I think that would be a good compromise.” He bites his lip as he finishes, and can’t help fidgeting in his seat as the silence stretches on between them. “…What?” he eventually has to ask.
Alfred jolts a bit, and then the dazzling smile is back. “You’re awesome, man! And I bet top of your class, too!” He laughs. “I think if we were on the same course I’d hate you a bit because of how good you are.”
“I…” Arthur blinks as the words stick in his throat. How is he supposed to reply to that? “You don’t know whether I’m good or not,” he eventually croaks out.
“Are you? Top of your class, I mean.”
There’s no judgement or hostility in Alfred’s eyes, so Arthur relaxes a bit. Takes a deep breath. “Top five for sure, I’d say.”
“I knew it!” Alfred pats his wrist before standing up again, stretching and popping his back. “Anyway, you’re good as new! I think tea and coffee have been ready for a while now, so let’s go down.”
Still feeling as though he was in a haze from Alfred’s exuberance, Arthur just nods and follows him downstairs. He’s able to take a better look around at the ground floor this time. The kitchen and living room are connected, and while they do look lived in, the space is much cleaner than Arthur’s house. He thinks Ludwig might have something to do with it as he watches the man wipe down the countertop around the cups of tea and coffee.
“I didn’t get to introduce myself earlier; I’m Arthur,” he says, cautiously stepping forward.
“Ludwig. The blue mug is yours.”
Arthur ducks around him and picks up the mug. He’s surprised to find milk already in it, and sugar when he takes a taste. “Thank you. How did you…?”
Ludwig shrugs and takes his own mug into the living room. “Most Brits take it the same way. Splash of milk, one or two sugars.”
“I suppose so. It’s nearly traditional at this rate.” Arthur follows him, with Alfred on his heels. Ludwig is sat on the two-seater couch so Arthur perches on an armchair instead, with Alfred taking the other chair. “I am sorry we woke you.”
“It’s fine.” Ludwig shrugs it off again. “I would have woken up with my alarm in about an hour anyway. This just means an earlier start to the day.”
Arthur can’t help but to gape a little. “You wake up at five each morning?” He glances over to Alfred, who has his nose buried in his coffee.
“It helps build character and routine.” Ludwig’s voice is completely serious.
Alfred snickers from his corner. “Plus if you didn’t call Feli to wake him up at eight, he’d never make his classes.”
One of Ludwig’s eyebrows shoots up. “You mean like you this past week?” His tone is quite casual, but it shuts Alfred up quickly.
Arthur lets out a snort. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
“I’m a night owl!”
“So am I, hence the walks at night, but I can still manage to wake up in time.” Arthur’s heart rate spikes after that, but he relaxes again as Alfred whines at him and even Ludwig smiles a little bit. He still feels like he’s very much testing the waters, and a few times the conversation threatens to plunge into awkward silence, but somehow they manage to keep it going until they’ve all finished their drinks. It’s then that Ludwig excuses himself. “It was nice meeting you,” Arthur tells him.
“You too. See you later.”
“So where’s your knife?” Suddenly, Alfred’s right next to him.
Arthur blinks. “In my pocket.”
“Really? Boo, that’s such a predictable place! I thought it was somewhere cool like in your shoe or strapped to your thigh or something!”
“It’d be harder to get to it there, though.” Arthur can’t help shaking his head.
“Oh… I guess you’re right.” Alfred still looks put out by it.
“Would you like to see it?”Arthur offers.
“Your knife?” Alfred immediately brightens…and starts snickering.
“What?”
“Oh yeah, Arthur, I totally wanna see your knife,” Alfred says, waggling his eyebrows.
“…Right, well I’m leaving-” Arthur begins to stand, but stops as Alfred flings a hand out.
“No wait, c’mon, don’t go yet! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I promise no more!”
Arthur squints at him, but slowly sinks back into the chair.
“Sweet!” Alfred lets out a deep breath and settles down as well, though he can’t quite keep the smile off his face. “I’ll be totally mature, I promise.”
“Hmm.” Somehow, Arthur can’t keep the fondness off his own face, which he thinks is ridiculous. It’s far too early for fondness.
“So can I…see…your knife?” Alfred asks, his voice wavering.
“It’s just a simple switchblade,” Arthur says as he takes it from his pocket. Perhaps the best solution would be ignoring that particular train of thought.
“Can you use it well?” Sobering up at the sight of it, Alfred holds his hand out. He brings it up to his face once it’s in his grasp.
Arthur shrugs. “I can stab someone well enough. Francis and Toni are better at blades in general, rich bastards got to have fencing lessons and the like as children.”
“It’s still cool.” Alfred’s eyes are fixed on the weapon.
“Thanks.” Arthur has to stifle a yawn. “God, I’m starting to get tired.” He glances out the window. “At least the sky is pretty.” It’s a soft, pale pink, fading into deeper blues and purples.
“Oh! You should go home then!” Alfred’s up immediately, returning Arthur’s knife and grabbing the blue mug to take to the kitchen. “Go sleep and stuff.”
Arthur’s a little slow to stand, the tiredness having hit him like a truck. “I will. I’ll be out like a light, probably.” He gives a faint chuckle and stretches, missing how Alfred’s eyes linger on him. “You can go back to what you were doing too.”
“Eh, I was just playing a game with some online buddies. I’ll probably head to bed too.” Alfred follows him out to the front door.
They both shiver as the cool morning air hits them, and Arthur feels more awake again. He breaths out deeply, straining to catch sight of his breath in the air. He turns, about to bid Alfred goodbye, when he notices the way the American’s mouth clicks shut. “…Yeah?”
“Um. Haha, I was just…” Alfred rubs at the back of his neck again, and his cheeks look almost flushed in the light of the hallway. “Uh, wondering whether I could get your number? Cuz- Cuz you seem like a cool guy and all and I still feel bad for scarin’ you and stuff and we should get coffee sometime, well I guess you’d get tea, but like, just to make up for it and…stuff. Yeah.”
Well. Arthur’s brain is working enough to understand that. “Sure.” He rattles off the number, then has to do it again when Alfred’s too shocked to catch it the first time. Cute. “When would you like to meet?”
Alfred’s still fumbling with his phone. He looks up at that and bounces on the balls of his feet as he thinks. “Does Friday work for you? I have a three hour gap from eleven to two.”
“My class ends at twelve. Half-twelve, then? Campus bar?”
“Sure.”
“It’s a date, then.” Arthur savours Alfred’s little squeak and the way his cheeks grow even redder, then waves and walks away. “Bless me, indeed,” he mutters as he heads down the road again.