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Arthur Kirkland was 13 when he met this nerd of a boy online, in a Discord server no less.
He never usually trusted those things or any of the people in it to not be weird about his presence or make a big deal out of anything on his profile immediately after saying hi, so usually he would lurk, watching the other members of the server talk amongst themselves.
But this boy. Arthur met him when he was pinged that he was going to be streaming a game and wanted people to watch, and no one was nessisarily paying attention... So he joined him. The boy was loud and excitable, like a dog, and Arthur let him know of this! Only to get a bark in return. He was full of surprises, wasn't he?
He didn't rage easy, which was kind of refreshing, but even when he did he twisted it in a way to come up with these strange, silly expressions that seemed like jokes instead. Arthur wasn't used to people wishing that the both sides of other's pillows was warm but he guessed there was a first time for everything. Entertained, he sat, and he talked, and two hours had gone by before the boy had to get off for bed. When they both disconnected, Arthur had a friend request from him.
It would become their little nightly ritual, especially in Arthur slowly becoming more accustomed to the game the boy was playing anyway. He'd jab and sass and the boy found it hilarious, and whenever they couldn't call for one reason or another be it family or gatherings or being out, the boy would complain to him in his messages about it.
millcalparty: UGGGH I MISS YOU ALREADY stupid family stuff :( gramps trying to take me places but I don't want to go
millcalparty: just want to talk to the cute boy in my phone isn't that important
bluebell: It won't be forever. Talk with your grandfather, he probably just wants to get to know his grandson.
bluebell: wait.
millcalparty: :(((( fine maybe it'll kill time
bluebell: Wait
millcalparty: talk to you later! :star:
bluebell: WAIT
The flirting seemed to start suddenly and without warning. It made Arthur stumble over himself, his face red behind the screen. He felt himself drawn to the boy too, but he was so annoying, so loud,
But he did get on call with him every night without much of a fail. Arthur himself would get fussy and pissy too if he couldn't talk with him, more protective of his devices than before, more secretive. It was his little piece of happiness no matter how much he didn't wish to admit it. He wanted to keep it.
The boy would call him cute, Arthur would be charmed, calling him hot. It granted him to choke on his water, Arthur laughing at his response, they would almost play at eachother competitively. The boy's name was Alfred, apparently. It sounded more like an old person name to Arthur, or a dogs name, but like Arthur fucking Kirkland had any room to talk about what an old person name sounded like.
They started talking seperate from gaming, despite how entrenched in the boy's- Alfred's- life gaming was. They talked privately, as Arthur "cooked", as Alfred got ready for schooling or his job, sometimes with each other's camera on.
Alfred was shocked that in the midst of laying down and wanting to watch as Arthur took a walk, it was broad daylight at Arthur's place. It seemed he had forgotten to explain he was actually in England, and by no means was in America at all. It shocked Alfred, but it made perfect sense to Arthur.
Arthur figured out Alfred liked European boys during that conversation, and couldn't help but feel like it was definitely targeted at himself, but decided to pry anyway, mentioning the Italians, Frenchmen in their shared server, that shy German dude that occasionally spoke even if he didn't like calling all that much. Alfred liked British European guys. With old man names.
Alfred asked Arthur out. He accepted, like it was obvious what the answer was going to be, but apparently it wasn't, Alfred being incredibly relieved he wasn't rejected or, worst yet, teased for asking him out.
Their ritual now included sleeping together, waking up to Alfred sprawled on his bed, blue blanket barely covering half of his body, Arthur tucked and cuddled up to a pillow, back facing the camera. Arthur was usually the one to wake up first, and if not, they would both wake up to Alfred's blaring, noisy alarm, Arthur hitting the camera and Alfred giggling as it fell to the floor.
Arthur loved Alfred's cat. He's a fat and fluffy white tomcat that looked almost exactly like him and was so, so affectionate, and everytime "Hero" heard Arthur talk his ears seemed to perk up and he ran to Alfred just like he did when he heard a can of food opening, crying for his boyfriend. Mystery, Arthur's cat, however didn't like Hero all that much, hissing at the sight of him even when Hero has done absolutely nothing. Mystery does like listening to Alfred.
Arthur was more open about his home life. His brothers forgot about him often, one of them even beating him bloody frequently, calling him the reason why his mom died, or their dad left, or a pathetic useless faggot, any combination of words and slurs. One time his head almost got cracked open from a bottle that got crashed over his head, and in hearing the stories Alfred’s blood felt like it was boiling.
He couldn't help but be more gentle to his boyfriend after all of that. Alfred's homelife was nowhere near as bad as Arthur's, he would explain, but for as long as Arthur had him he would always be there for him. Arthur had never been treated gently like that before.
He was more clingy, if not a bit more unstable with the clinginess, sometimes waking up in a cold sweat to beg Alfred to never leave him, that he feels like he is dying every time he isn't sure of Alfred's love for him, he didn't want to be replaced or tossed aside or thrown out. He was desperate. He needed Alfred constantly.
Alfred said he couldn't help but feel a similar draw to Arthur, like he felt like he was going to fall apart if he couldn't talk with the younger boy, hear his voice, see his face, he was his shining sun.
Alfred admitted he was 18 to Arthur a few days later. Arthur didn't care at all, questioning why it was so important. Alfred dropped the topic too, if he continued he thought he would make it weird.
Arthur didn't care when Alfred wanted to jack off to Arthur's voice, either. He liked being loved, appreciated, desired, by his favorite person in the whole world. The only boy who would ever pay attention to him. So naturally, when he asked to see his body, he absolutely showed him.
Alfred's eyes raked over Arthur's pale, pre-transitioned body like it was visual crack and he was a fresh addict, his hands moving frantically over himself on his own camera. Arthur teased a lot, asking if he liked it, his tits, his stomach, telling him how much of a pervert he was. He drove Alfred mad almost every night.
Alfred loved how feminine his body was, he would say, a twinge of nausea flickering in Arthur's stomach. Alfred loved his cunt, how pretty and how untouchable it looked. Alfred loved watching Arthur fuck himself silly with his fingers like the good bunny he was, craving Alfred's praise and words of adoration as he twitched and his back arched.
Sometimes Arthur would ask for things too, a picture of his chest, a picture of his dick with face in frame, though sometimes Arthur didn't nessisarily want to show Alfred anything sometimes. He'd talk about how ugly and fat he felt that day, and how he would rather die than let anyone else curse their eyes with his body. But Alfred thought it was hot, so he should show him, hearing the familiar unzip of his jeans.
Sometimes they would fight. Arthur would take it a little too far, Alfred would go a mile over the line, leaving Arthur sobbing and Alfred speechless that he would even have the gall to utter something of that filth. But in the back of his mind, Arthur was kind of hot when he was crying anyway. He would comfort and hurt and comfort and hurt over and over and replay those moments in the back of his mind later with his hand over his bulge like it was the only thing to make him horny.
And Arthur still loved him. He couldn't STOP loving him, why the hell would he do that? The only man that has ever payed attention to him, loving attention, attention that he has never had, running away from it all? For every argument it was suddenly his fault, and he was so sorry for saying anything, and begging and pleading for Alfred to still love him.
Alfred was the only one to tolerate his horrible, fragile heart after all, even if he bloodied his hands tearing it apart and sewing it back together so often. Alfred was the only one to love him entirely, mind and body and voice and all. Alfred sat with him on call while he smoked and got drunk and high and sang himself to sleep, mumbling nonsense into his boyfriends ear.
Alfred was the only boy who loved him.