Hello everyone~ So me and my good friend LucyMoon1992 share the same birthday, so I wanted to write a fic for her present ^_^ She didn't mind what I wrote as long as Iggy's bros made an appearance and were trying to set him up with Alfie. Seeing as I watched Bridget Jones's Diary the other day, somehow this fic was born :P I hope you can enjoy it :3

WARNING: Language, but seeing as this story has Artie in it, that's a given :P

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, nor Bridget Jones's Diary, but I'm keeping my eyes peeled to see if the rights to either end up on eBay~


Arthur Kirkland's Diary

Dear Journal

...Really? 'Dear Journal'? What am I, a five-year-old schoolgirl? I frowned at the page before promptly scribbling out the embarrassing words and tried again.

Hello Journal

Hmm... no, that still seems wrong.

Yo Journal!

Oh dear Lord I did not just write that... I blame that entirely on Gilbert forcing me to watch that god-awful show called 'Cribs' or something. Stupid American rubbish. How MTV is still broadcasting baffles me, 'Music Television' my arse. Now Kerrang! There's a decent music channel! Not that I'd let anyone know about my love affair with rock, but still.


Well now that just makes it seem as if I'm not trying. Bloody hell, I started this damn thing to relieve some stress and bring about order, but I can't even write a single word without everything going to hell!

I sighed and tapped the pen impatiently against the wooden desk before deciding that a simple 'Journal' would suffice for now.


After much deliberation I have decided to write a journal- not a bloody diary!- in order to retain some sanity in my life. Sanity such as finding a way out of my shitty office job, and putting an end to my procrastination so I can finally finish the novel I've been working on for much too long. And I suppose that if I met someone who wasn't a complete git, wanker, knob-head, pervert, toss-bag or French, then that would be quite lovely. If the aforementioned list didn't make it clear, Francis Bonnefoy, a.k.a the embodiment of all of those things, is to be ignored at all costs. If that is not achievable, burning him at the stake would also be rather fitting.

After spending a good five minutes imagining the blissful scenario of the pervert going up in flames, I was cruelly dragged back into reality (where, alas, there were no burning Frenchmen) by an alert on my mobile, reminding me that I now have the immense privilege of meeting up with my alleged brothers. I use the term 'alleged' because I am still waiting to collect DNA samples from them and send them off to a laboratory for analysis- because I am almost 100% sure there is no blood relation. Yet that is beside the point, the fact remains that I have to spend my evening playing 'happy families' with those gits while my so called 'novel' stagnates.

I really should get started on that...


With a Rum and Cola in hand which had become less Cola and more Rum within the space of about fifteen minutes, I tried to remain civil with my brutish siblings while they felt the urge to point out my many flaws.

"All I'm saying is you're a dick," Alasdair said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. He flicked his flame red hair out of his eyes (and yes, it is natural, and Lord if it isn't one of the most surreal things on this planet) and taking another swig of his whiskey. His Scottish accent seemed to get even stronger with each gulp of the amber liquid he took.

I remained impassive, and Seamus took that as his opportunity to step in with, "But I, being amazing, have thought of a way to remedy it!" He grinned widely before taking a drink of- whatever the hell that strange concoction in his glass is- and then slammed his glass down on the table dramatically. "I'm gonna get you laid!" he practically yelled, attracting a lot of unwarranted attention, but did he give a shit? Of course not, because he's fucking loopy. He once put a man in the Casualty Ward because the bloke called him 'Irish'. A word to the wise: Don't forget the bloody fucking 'Northern' in front of Irish! It will not end well if you don't.

And by 'not well', I mean three broken ribs and a concussion not well. But that is neither here nor there.

"While I appreciate the thought," I said as sarcastically as I could, which was pretty damn sarcastic, "I can manage that on my own, thank you very much."

"A simple 'thanks' would do," he said, not even bothering to listen, "I'm pretty sure you'll hit it off with this guy."

"That's what you said about the last one," I reminded, practically downing my drink in one at the thought.

His blue-green eyes (it really all depended on how the light caught them) flickered with the memory and a sheepish grin appeared. "Well that may have been one of my worse ideas..."

"On what planet did you think a Russian with some form of severe mental disorder would be good for me?" I scowled.

"Yeah..." he went back to his drink.

"Brawd?" A reassuring hand was placed on my shoulder and I looked into the aqua blue pools of Cariad, who was smiling gently. "We just think that he'd be good for you, seeing as you've been stressed lately."

I tried to keep scowling, but Cariad didn't have a problem with being decent to me in public, so my expression softened. I hummed noncommittally and he turned and said something to Seamus with that gentle Welsh lilt he had picked up.

In case you are wondering how we are all related but seem to be from all corners of the UK, allow me to explain. My mother, God bless her soul, was an absolutely wonderful woman. She was kind-hearted, warm, loving, always there for us... and she had a libido that would put even the French to shame. Simply put, she wasn't prepared for the onslaught of so many boys, especially when in close proximity to each other 'kill mode' was activated. I'm not exactly sure why she thought sending us off to the various countries comprising the UK was a good idea, but she was a complex woman.

Alasdair was first, and he seems to think that being the eldest gives him license to act like a prat even at the age of 26. Three years later Cariad was born, and I followed shortly after. As the only sibling that remained in England, thus had no affected accent, I like to think of myself as a 'pure blood' and call my brothers 'mudbloods'. What? Harry Potter is fucking amazing, and if you don't agree, why are you even on this planet? Seamus was the newest and last addition to our rather dysfunctional family, and seeing as mother was rather disappointed at not bearing a girl at any point, she had taken to dressing little-boy Seamus up in dresses so she could at least pretend (a fact which I, nor Alasdair or Cariad, will ever let him live down).

"So who is this bloke you're thinking of forcing upon me?" I inquired, looking at Seamus.

"His name is Alfred and he goes to Uni with me!" he said, looking away from Cari and suddenly rather enthusiastic.

"University with you? Christ Seamus, that means he isn't even in his twenties! Couldn't you find someone older?" Great, clearly my brothers are trying to get me labelled as a cradle snatcher. Bastards.

"Just give him a chance," he said offhandedly, his russet hair falling into his eyes but he didn't seem to care.

"Yeah, seems like he may be able to remove that stick up yer arse!" Alasdair added rather helpfully with a smirk.

"And perhaps replace it with something else," Cariad snickered, thinking he was being sly and whispering to the other two but I bloody well heard! So great, even Cari has entered 'douche mode'.

"Filthy mudbloods," I muttered vindictively, before Seamus thought is appropriate to leap up and nearly spill the precious alcohol.

"He should be here now, I'll go get him!"

Unfortunately for me I had just taken a drink, and it soon found it's way all over Alas, who then proceeded to cuss out in a slur of, what I think was meant to be something rather offensive, but no one can damn well understand him when he's inebriated and angry.

Smirking victoriously for a brief moment and the now soaking ginger (yes, calling him ginger pisses him off to no end, hence why I use it) I lapsed back into shock.

"H-he's here now?!" I sputtered, but in a rather dignified way, for even if I am related to Neanderthals, I myself am a gentleman.

Seamus just nodded and sauntered off, leaving me speechless, Alasdair swearing blindly, and Cariad grabbing my hand and leading me to a separate booth. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or terrified. On one hand- I get away from my brothers. On the other hand- I may be subjected to yet another Russian psychopath.

Seriously, what gave Seamus that idea?

It was almost as bad as the time Alasdair proudly proclaimed he had found someone 'mature' enough for me, and it ended up being a creepy Italian man who practically begged me to call him 'grandpa'.

I really should stop letting them do this to me.

I slumped sullenly in the booth and ignored Cariad's mischievous grin and deceptively sweet 'good luck' as he left me alone, proper manners flying completely out of the window as I put my elbows on the table and rested my chin in my hand with an expression that I hoped screamed 'boredom'. It would be easier for me and this Alfred boy to have as little to do with each other as possible.

"He's over there, have fun~" I heard Seamus say somewhere in the background, and a shadow was soon looming over me.

Great. It's probably some hulking, ugly looking kid with acne that's too much of a lost cause to be bothered about amongst his own peers-

Holy bleeding hell.

I looked up expecting to see the offspring of Shrek but instead I got- I got...


That was probably the best way of describing my first impression of the lad. Where I'd been expecting acne, there was smooth, tanned skin. How he'd managed to catch a tan in British weather is completely beyond me, but I wasn't exactly concerned with pondering how he got his sun kissed look because I was far too busy scrutinising- not ogling- it.

Where I supposed there would be overly greasy hair, luscious golden locks fell gently to just above shoulder height, with the exception of a stubborn cowlick that seemed to defy gravity, but who needs gravity when you look as charming as this guy did? His eyes were such a curious shade of blue, as if the sky itself had blessed them with it's captivating colour and that grin of his...

Okay, surely it isn't healthy to be having this sort of reaction just from one simple look at someone. But I was now sitting upright in what I hoped was a more friendly way and doing my best not to sigh dreamily at that grin that held a hint of nerves at the situation, but it was just so full of boyish charm and this lad seemed to radiate brilliance.

As much as it pained me to say it: my brothers just may have gotten it right this time. This Alfred character really was-

"Woah dude! Your eyebrows are huge!"

-a complete wanker. And a yank.

Fuck, I knew there had to be a catch.

"Charming," I said snippily, reverting back to my fed up pose and scowling at the idiot before me. Because I felt I had had sufficient time to brand him as such.

"Oh no, I didn't mean it in a bad way! They- uhh- suit ya!" he grinned.

Damn that grin! Only seconds ago I wanted to never forget that grin, and now I want to punch it off of his face. But being a perfect gentleman I resorted to a simple grunt and hoped he'd get the message of, 'please piss off'.

Leave it to the yank to not be able to read the current mood. He plopped down happily opposite me and stuck out a hand.

"I'm Alfred F. Jones!" he greeted enthusiastically, and I wondered why he felt the need to include the 'F' was necessary if he wasn't going to elaborate. Well, it wasn't as if I cared anymore, I had already filed Alfred under 'No Way In Hell'.

"Arthur Kirkland," I nodded, returning the pleasantries with only minimal coldness and shaking his hand firmly. Despite being younger than me, I could already guess that this American had a good few centimetres on me already, so I suppose I wasn't terribly surprised to find that his hand was also larger than mine. It would have been a pleasant exchange (Alfred's hand was warm and a little rough where I supposed he had been doing labour of some sort) had my mind not decided it suddenly found the gutter a rather appealing place to be as suddenly-

'You know what they say about guys with big hands'

-made its presence known.

Let any records show that I did not blush as I thought that, and I cannot stipulate enough about how my hand did not linger in his for longer than was usually socially acceptable. He was American anyway, aren't they used to being all touchy-feely and overly friendly? So I thought nothing of it, and told myself that I was simply imagining the proud little smirk I saw on Alfred's face as I pulled my hand away and glanced at the very interesting portrait on the complete opposite side of the pub.



After a lot of careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that acquiring a nuclear weapon of some description is of top priority. As soon as said weapon of mass destruction is in my possession, I shall proceed to use it against the sorry tossers masquerading themselves as my siblings.

After spending an excruciating hour in the presence of Golden Boy, I was forced to retire for the evening with the sorry excuse of 'I don't feel well'. During that hour, I feel that I had gained so much trivial knowledge on my supposed 'date' that I would be the clear winner of any pub quiz had the topic been 'Alfred Fucking Jones'.

Yes, I am sure I have deciphered what that 'F' stands for.

Honestly, my life just feels so much richer knowing that Captain America is his favourite super hero. In case my sarcasm fails to flow through the ink and dry on the page, that was indeed sarcasm.

And would you like to know something amusing? The yank even suggested that we should go on another 'date'.

Not bloody likely.


New message from Francis Bonnefoy!

I glared at the words currently being displayed on my screen, particularly the last two, as if they were personally offensive to my personage. Which, I suppose, I could actually argue my case and say that they were.

My eyes flickered away from the spread sheet I had boredly been trawling through, quickly finding the frog in question before quickly averting my gaze back to the screen. I wondered why he bothered sending the message in the first place, seeing as currently we were the only two on the floor. Anything for overtime pay. He was in his office, yet I could see him perfectly seeing as he had insisted on the walls being constructed purely out of glass. "I 'ave nothing to 'ide, only l'amour to give~" was the bullshit he had offered up at the time.

Although I'm sure he must regret such little privacy, what with the numerous 'compromising situations' he was continually caught in with, well, pretty much anything with a pulse. If a pear had a heartbeat, I guarantee that the man would fuck it.

Then again I am nearly 100% sure that I saw an inflatable doll in there one Monday morning, so perhaps the heartbeat aspect of things wasn't necessary. I should set up a little experiment in the name of science in order to see if Francis could resist the sight of the pencil sharpener on his desk in a skirt...

Mental note: never take any fruit Francis offers to me. Just in case. And never ask to borrow his pencil sharpeners. Again, just in case.

I sighed and clicked on the new message.

Bonjour mon petit lapin!
Today has just been so stressful, non? How about we go to dinner afterwards, just so that we can discuss work-related affairs. Oh, and would you mind bringing me some coffee?

I sighed and quickly composed my reply.

I do not mix business and pleasure unlike you. And in all honesty I have much more worthwhile things to be doing with my time than to waste it with you. Hell, bashing my head in with a brick would be time better spent. And do you honestly expect me to bring you coffee? I am not your bloody secretary!
-A. Kirkland

New message from Francis Bonnefoy!

Mon petit lapin,
How cruel you are! You have wounded my heart! Surely one evening out cannot possibly hurt? Just give it a chance, non?

I do not care if you are my boss, I demand that you stop your blatant sexual harassment before I kick your arse. And I also demand an apology.
-A. Kirkland

I smirked and clicked 'send', sitting back feeling rather proud of myself as I looked into the glass office intently. I saw Francis click on something, and I didn't miss the way his eyes widened. A sense of superiority washed over me, and when his blue eyes regarded me for a moment, I simply raised an eyebrow in a silent question of, 'Where the bloody hell is my apology? You should be typing it up now'.

New message from Francis Bonnefoy!

Mon petit lapin,
An apology, mon cher? Why, it is not harassment if you enjoy it, non? ;) Also, if anyone is at fault for 'sexual harassment', surely it is you. I believe that you mentioned my perfectly sculpted behind in your message. Don't worry, it is perfectly understandable~

The sound that escaped my lips was one of disgust and slight amusement.

You know perfectly well that I was not mentioning your behind in complementary terms, and that fact will always hold true. Now give me that apology before I turn nasty.
-A. Kirkland

I was about to click 'send' but, unfortunately for me, I had been so preoccupied with my furious typing that I had failed to notice that snake slithering up behind me.

"I don't mind you being nasty, mon cher," a heavily accented voice breathed in my ear. I could feel that annoying stubble on his chin grazing my cheek, his long blonde locks tickling with every slight movement one of us made.

It came as such a shock that my body wanted to have about a million different responses all at once. While I could have shivered, or screamed, or, most preferably, turned around and socked him straight in the face, for some reason my brain co-ordinated my body to gain air time as I flew off my seat and landed in the most ungraceful fashion.

'Ungraceful' here meaning: straight on my arse, my arms and hands flailing wildly to grab at a stray stapler in a vain attempt to stay anchored, and my legs, unfortunately, open in a very suggestive manner.


I premeditated the smirk, and he'd barely gotten out his perverted 'Ohonhonhon~' before my hand came into contact with a paperweight that I had taken with me during the fall. I clasped it and held it like a weapon.

"I will use this," I threatened.

"Mon cher, you seem to think of me as a threat," Francis said smoothly, bending down and gently taking my only weapon away from me. "Please, dine with me tonight."

Now, I know for a fact that I was going to say no. That much is obvious. However, how I was going to say no was still a mystery. Family illness? Too much paperwork? I can't miss the match on telly tonight?

All of those would have been acceptable. However my brain decided that my dramatic crash landing into the floor wasn't quite embarrassing enough, and I heard a voice say:

"Sorry, but I am already seeing someone."

It took a few horrifying seconds for me to realise that is was actually myself to utter those words.

"Oh?" the Frenchman asked, tilting his head to the side slightly before he smirked again. "I don't believe you."

Well, I couldn't very well acknowledge that I had just said something completely and utterly incorrect. Pride dictated that I carry on with the charade.

"Yes, well, I don't go around broadcasting everything unlike a certain frog I could mention," I glared.


"I beg your pardon?"

"What is his name?" Francis asked.

Hmm... good question. I faltered for a moment and Francis' smirk grew wider. He was loving this, just waiting for me to break and admit that no, I wasn't actually seeing someone. But I'd be damned if I went down without trying.

So, names. Names, names, names... Pedro! ...What the hell? 'Pedro'? Oh, that's believable. Joe? Too common. Tristan? Sounds like he'd be a douche. Calvin? Urgh, no. Kiku? Oh God, way to bring up my ex, brain. Thank you very much. Steve? Lee? Chris? Ivan? Oh wait, that's the psychopath... I need a sodding name!

Francis was actually grinning by this point, his lips opening, ready for the words 'I knew you were lying' to come pouring out.

"Alfred," I said quickly without thinking.


"Alfred?" repeated the frog.

"Are you bloody daft? That was what I had just said, was it not?" I said, trying to keep my voice level but I doubt I was managing that feat.

His blue eyes narrowed. "Well then, mind telling me a bit about 'im?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I actually do. Now, if you'll excuse me-" I said in the most dignified way one can when surrounded by balance sheets and a multitude of paperclips. A thumb tack even got caught up in my hair, "-I am done with my work and therefore with you. I shall see you on Monday, unless some divine creature wipes your existence completely."

And with that, I walked very purposefully away.

(Only noticing that I had actually left my briefcase, but screw it, I am not slinking back in there like an idiot. There's nothing important in there anyway).

Once I had made it outside I was able to fully appreciate the fact that, for once, it wasn't raining. I also had time to lament that I had been stuck behind a desk all day doing monotonous work, interspersed with dealing with the usual perversion that ensues when one Francis Bonnfeoy is your boss. Yet disregarding that, I had still managed to make it out of the building in time to see the blue skies overhead, and my mind appeared to involuntarily wander to a certain someone that seems to possess that same sunny sky blue.

I scowled and shirked off my jacket seeing as the temperature was much warmer than I had previously thought. I remember scoffing when Francis had that air conditioner installed in the offices, but I suppose it certainly does its job.

Mind deviating from air conditioners, I ended up back on the subject of 'seeing someone'. I guess that I should make more of an effort to meet other people, maybe find a significant other, but ever since what I have termed as 'The Incident', I haven't really had much of an interest. Now that I think about it, my brothers only really started setting me up with people a few months after The Incident, in the hopes of snapping me out of my slump, presumably.

Maybe Seamus was just worried about me and so set me up with Alfred? Like Alasdair tried with the Italian man... Oh God, I am destined to die alone. That must be it. I'll grow old and grey and end up living on a council estate with twenty-seven cats. I already have one cat- it must be a sign!

My thoughts began to travel into the realms of severe depression, and I was busy contemplating the very real possibility of simply dying with no one around to notice or care, probably becoming food for my cat, when a loud voice was calling my name.

"Arthur! Hey dude, that's you right? Artie!"

Breaking my vacant stare from the pavement and looking up, I was met with the lush greenery that is the park on the way back to my apartment. It was one of those big, sprawling parks, with a variety of flora and fauna to keep even the most avid of gardeners happy with the discoveries of a new flower or plant each day (and I suppose I liked to dabble a bit in gardening, so it was always nice to stroll around every now and then).

I turned my head towards the direction of the voice, sure it wasn't who I thought it was, but I was wrong. I was practically blinded as I looked up and saw Alfred grinning and waving madly at me. I sighed and considered pretending I hadn't seen him, but he seemed genuinely happy to see me, so maybe he wasn't joking when he said he wanted to meet up again? I may not particularly like him, but is the space of a few hours really fair to judge someone completely?

Perhaps I should give Alfred more of a chance. Seamus must have picked him for a reason, and he didn't appear to have any mental health issues aside from being a bit of an idiot. And it's the gentlemanly thing to do, to give someone a fair chance.

And those are the sole reasons as to why I stopped walking and turned around, offering a small wave as Alfred all but bounded up to me, looking as cheerful as ever. It had nothing to do with the fact that, due to the heat, he had removed his shirt. Absolutely nothing at all.

And I was not drooling; I simply had a bead of sweat dripping down past my chin.


The guy was practically glowing! The sun clearly loved him, bathing him in glorious light in all of the right ways. His hair, like precious spun gold, seemed a bit more unruly than the other day, but when I noted the football under his right arm I figured it was because he was practicing. He still had that same stubborn cowlick sticking straight upright, and I may or may not have offered up a small smile as I thought about how some people, not necessarily me, may find it rather endearing. And he clearly worked out. I don't think I have ever seen such a perfect body on someone who wasn't a celebrity or who had liberally used Photoshop.

His tanned skin was actually shimmering; I am honestly not exaggerating. It suddenly made me feel extremely self-conscious seeing as my own skin tone can rival that of a ghost's. So yes, the lad did look rather amazing, and I wasn't sure whether I was glad of that fact or simply annoyed that Seamus had actually found someone who I at least found physically attractive. Mentally though, was a completely different kettle of fish.

"Hey," he said once he was closer, grinning and oh why is that grin so bright and fantastic?!

"Ufluh," was my extremely intelligent reply. Smooth. I blame the grin.

All he did was smile and laugh. But not the reserved type of laughter that I am used to, he actually tilted his head back and laughed. And it was loud and possibly fatally humiliating if any other people had been in the park at that moment, but there weren't and there was something melodic about it.

After composing himself he asked, "So, how are you?"

So he at least knows the good old British tradition of 'awkward small talk'. I wonder if we'll have to do the whole, "Talk about this weather" routine.

"I'm fine, you?" I asked. He voiced the same sentiments, but before the conversation could lull I said, "You never mentioned you were into Football."

He looked slightly confused then, cocking his head to one side. "What does Football have to do with anything?"

I deadpanned and motioned to his arm. "The football you're carrying may have something to do with that," I said flatly.

He looked and seemed perplexed for a moment before he grinned. "Oh yeah! Dude, this is a soccer ball."

"No Alfred, it is a football."

"Soccer ball."


"Soccer ball."

"I refuse to play this childish game," I huffed, crossing my arms in indignation.

"Just cuz ya know I'm right," he sing-songed, winking at me. Wow, the sun sure is hot today, I can feel my cheeks heating up.

I had just about managed to control the heat of the sun affecting my cheeks, for that is what it was, when the American undid absolutely all of my efforts by reaching and blatantly groping my arse as if it is socially acceptable.

My version of events goes a little something like this:

"Unhand me at once you pervert!" I said forcefully, wrenching the offending hand off of my personage. "How very dare you? I cannot believe I stopped to talk to you. Good day to you sir!" And with that, I turned around radiating superiority and walked off with a grand gait.

The reality version of events went a little something like this:

I let out a high-pitched sort of strangling noise. I really wish there was another way to describe it, but it is what it is. I completely tensed up, wondering how we'd gotten from discussing Football to sudden inappropriate touches in a bloody public place! My mind was telling me to kick the yank, harm him, do something. But my body, being ever faithful to me today, decided it rather liked the feel of Alfred's hands lightly caressing and feeling and oh crap knees don't give out-

"Why have you got Blu-Tack here?" he asked, pulling his hand away, and no I did not whine at the loss of contact... it was sort of bordering between a needy groan and my sheer will to keep quiet. Which, when you consider that ever since The Incident I've had next to no physical contact with anything other than my ever faithful hand, was quite the accomplishment.

Sadly Alfred didn't miss whatever the noise I made was, and it appeared that he had only just realised that his hand was plainly on my bum at that exact moment because I saw his cheeks pinken a bit. It didn't last however, when he saw me biting my lip and scowling that a noise that wasn't one of indignation managed to escape at all. His eyes glittered when they caught mine, and I don't know what he was about to suggest, but I knew I had to get out of there.

It was a toss up between, 'Well I must dash, I left the oven on,' or , 'Oh bugger, I forgot to water the plants! I'll perhaps see you around'. So you can imagine my mortification when I said:

"Well it was lovely meeting you again but I must dash, I forgot to water my oven this morning."

The only logical thought going through my mind as I felt myself flush at the idiocy and seeing Alfred's face hold hints of curiosity and mischief was:




I have been forced to re-evaluate the paradoxical anomaly that is Alfred F Jones. After a downright shameful first few minutes of our coincidental meeting, and a few more minutes of me swearing blindly that I will murder Francis in cold blood seeing as he is the main reason as to why Blu-Tack was on my behind, things got easier.

He asked if I fancied a game of Football, and I thought it only polite to show the boy how it was really played. He turned out to be surprisingly good actually, which was damned annoying. The only downside/upside/sideways/diagonal/other-moment-that-was-wonderfully-horrid was when he was a tad overenthusiastic running after the ball.

If he had merely collided with me, then I would have been fine. If he had fallen on top of me, then I would have been fine (save for perhaps a few broken bones). But when he decided that being a 'hero' was more important than a goal as he saw me trip as he zoomed past, I ended up pressed against his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around me.

Now, I could sit here and write about how traumatic and awful it was, but this is a journal (not a diary) and as such, why not tell the truth?

To say he was like a furnace would be an understatement. Heat radiated off of him like it was completely normal, and I wouldn't be surprised if he could rival the sun one day. And you can tell just by looking at him that he works out, but when you're pressed right up against him... God dammit! Oh how I wished I had just pushed him away but I didn't! I sort of just, awkwardly stood there while he practically hugged me, trying to work out whether to save face and come up with a witty comment or just fuck society and shove him up against a nearby tree.

In the end I opted for escaping while desperately trying not to blush again, because that is getting rather old and I am not one to usually blush, and I ended up being victorious in our little mini game:

Myself: 10, Alfred: 8.

And damned if his shocked expression at having his arse handed to him wasn't bloody fantastic.


"Tell me why I decided to come here with you again," I asked as we passed the shower section in IKEA.

"Because," Seamus said as he accidentally got tangled up in a shower curtain before pulling it down and landing inside the display shower, "For some reason you don't trust me to go here alone." He grinned up at me, the shower curtain falling over him like a blanket before he pulled it up and fashioned a nun's hood while clasping his hands together in a prayer-like manner. "Although I don't see why big brother, the Lord Jesus himself is watching over me as I go about my-"

I hit him over the head. "Once you are done being politically incorrect, get out of the bleedin' shower! People are starting to stare at you!"

He shrugged but thankfully complied.

"What are you even looking for?" I asked as he turned right into the bed section.

"Something," he said noncommittally before his tone changed. "Soooo..."

I didn't like the sound of that 'so'.

"Alfred told me that you two hung out the other day," he said, winking at me while he elbowed my side.

I shoved him off and pulled a face. "All we did was play a bit of Football, nothing to get excited about... Don't give me that look! Honestly, it was just a game!"

"Sure it was," he snickered, "Ya know, you can just say that you like him."

"I do not!" I said a tad louder than was necessary, and now the people were staring again. I was just about to throttle Seamus, especially when he began to hum under his breath, 'Alfred and Arthur sitting in a tree~', but he cut himself off with an overly dramatic gasp.

"Oh Alfred!" he cried, "What a coincidence it is meeting you here! What a surprise indeed!" he said, making a show of pulling my arm. "Don't you think that it's so weird, Arthur? It must be fate or something!"

"Never give up your day job to become an actor," I retorted, "You set this up, didn't you?" I asked, looking over to Alfred who gave a mock salute.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, brother dearest," Seamus said sweetly.

"Oh, go and wear a dress, tranny," I smirked.

"Ouch, okay, that was uncalled for," my brother pouted, "But I look fabulous in anything I wear so whatever!"

I rolled my eyes and by this point we had reached the American that 'just-so-happened-to-also-be-in-IKEA'.

"Hey Artie," he said happily, and I was beginning to think that 'happy' was his default and only setting.

"It's Arthur," I corrected primly, quite ignoring how Seamus was cooing in the background before 'he just remembered he had somewhere else to be, so see you two lovebirds later!'

"Aw, but Artie suits ya better," he teased, grabbing my arm before dragging me to another part of the never ending store.

"Where the bloody hell are you taking me?" I demanded, but he just replied with, "It's a secret!"

Apparently our destination in the oh-so-romantic IKEA was the wardrobe section. "Do I even want to know?" I asked, but Alfred just started opening random wardrobes, peering inside, and pulling a face when he saw that they were empty. In each one he placed a slip of paper. "What in the Queen's name are you doing?"

"I'm informing people," he said, holding up the slips of paper in his hands. I took one and saw that he had written-

No Narnia in here :(

-on each one.

I snorted. "You are utterly ridiculous. It's obvious that Narnia won't be inside any of them."

"No it's not," he replied, stopping what he was doing to look at me. "One of these wardrobes could be, like, home to a 'crossing' point into a parallel dimension. If it was, then Narnia may exist."

"What nonsense are you babbling on about?"

"Not nonsense: Quantum Physics," he grinned. "It's the Multiverse theory. So, hypothetically, there are all these different universes right next to ours, just on different dimensional planes, where different variables have affected how that particular universe has developed. And when you look at Tegmark's Classification, then-" he cut himself off, "Oh- uh- sorry, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about, huh?" he asked sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

I simply stared, completely shocked that something so... clever sounding had come from him. "I-It's fine... how do you know of this, err- Multiverse?"

"I major in Physics," he said, smiling, and damn if he didn't just get a million times sexier. I mean, of course he's nice to look at, but the fact that he possesses intellect as well? I've always been a complete sucker for the smart-types.

"So... you're telling me that Narnia could actually exist inside a wardrobe?" I asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Well, the chances are seriously low, but yeah."

"So, in theory, there may also be a universe in which you can beat me at Football?" I teased, feeling my lips quirk up into a small smile.

"Hey! That was a fluke, I'm challenging you to a rematch," he laughed.

"Hah, you're more than welcome to, but you won't win," I said smugly.

"Ya think so?"

"I know so."

"Well then why the heck are we standing around in IKEA? Let's go!" he said enthusiastically, grabbing my hand and practically running towards the exit, whizzing past desk-lamps and sinks and desks. "Oh hey, that was my old desk!" he said randomly, but he didn't stop. "I totally broke it though."

"How did you manage to break a desk?!" I asked incredulously.

"Err, I kinda didn't realise my own strength," he chuckled, and that was all he said on the matter.



It appears as though my first impression of Alfred F Jones was horribly wrong... well, maybe not. He's still an idiot, but a smart idiot... which doesn't even make sense! The lad is a walking contradiction in and of itself. He can't remember his mobile number, yet he can recite Pi to 50 decimal places! How is that normal? He's apparently some kind of genius, yet he told me that he'd locked himself out of his apartment at least five times in the past month. He seems to be the epitome of a geek or a nerd, but he looks like those prized jocks that the States idolise so much. I just don't understand him at all.

And his strength! A normal person should not be as strong as he is! When we went to play Football again he thought that picking me up and putting me over his shoulder was an effective method to keep me away from the ball. Which, of course it was, but he didn't even break a sweat! It was as if I weighed nothing! And then he broke a desk. A DESK! And not just any desk, a fucking IKEA desk! One does not simply break IKEA furniture!

Christ, he could bend me over an IKEA desk any day, being brilliantly smart yet stupid as he recounted random theories interspersed with cheesy superhero quotes. It probably isn't normal to dream of being taken roughly over a desk while a husky American voice breathes E=MC2 into your ear, but I have a feeling that Alfred can make Einstein's theory of relativity one of the sexiest things on the planet. And if he broke the desk while we were at it, well, I frankly wouldn't give a flying toss.

In fact, it would probably be more of a turn on.


"It's way too long," Cariad said resolutely as he looked my outfit up and down.

"That's the whole point," I said in exasperation, "It wouldn't make sense to make it any shorter."

"Yes it would, you want to turn heads, right?" he asked.

"No, which is precisely why I chose to go to this blasted company dress-up party as an angel. Angels don't wear revealing outfits and, as such, King of the Pervy Frogs shouldn't pay much attention to me."

"But it's dragging across the floor! You are literally wearing a sheet Brawd, at least let me try and make it better."

"Absolutely not. I bought some feathery wings from a store the other day, it will look better when I put them on."

"Ah, sod this, I'm sexing this lame outfit up!" Seamus said, springing away from the corner he had been sat at.

"Oi! Stay away!" I warned, moving to grab something but all I ended up picking up was the small stick with a golden cardboard star stuck onto it. Damn.

"Cari, you rip off the sleeves, I'll make the length more suitable!" the younger ordered, immediately grabbing the hem of my sheet and barely had I a chance to protest when a loud ripping noise tore through the room.

"There, that's much better," he said, nodding his head in approval, and Cariad nodded before ripping the top half of the once modest sheet while Seamus practically pinned me down. My thrashing did little to deter them in the long run, and when they finally pulled away I was gasping for breath.

"You wankers," I hissed, standing up and noticing the sudden draft. I looked down. "Holy shit!" I hollered before turning my acid glare to Seamus. "This is much too short you tosser! It barely covers anything!"

"Bro, listen, I can't say much about your crappy hairstyle or those eyebrows of yours-" I snarled but he didn't seem phased- "Anyone can recognise that you have nice legs. Use them!"

"Use them on who, exactly?" I asked, cocking my hip and hoping I was still looking intimidating, despite the fact that I was currently looking in the mirror to see if what Seamus had said about my legs was true. I was still scowling though, "Going to this do half naked is license for that slimy frog bastard to make a move!"

"No it isn't, you may be surprised," Cariad giggled a bit, moving over to fix the sheet so that it was off the shoulder. "Fetch the wings, would you Seamus?" he asked, before he retrieved some sandals with long streams of golden ribbon. He motioned for me to slip the footwear on, and once that was accomplished he began a complicated criss-cross pattern of ribbon up my legs.

"Cari, I really don't think this is appropriate for a work-related party."

"Didn't you say your boss wore nothing last year, except a rose covering what really mattered?"

I shivered at the sickening memory. "Yes, but still..."

Just as the Welsh sent brother was finished with the sandals, Seamus skipped back holding the feathery wings and a glittery halo. "All right, you're gonna cause a storm!" he said once he was finished.

"I swear to God if Alasdair takes pictures with which he can use as blackmail at this party," I muttered angrily, because he always ends up attending these socially embarrassing parties due to the fact he and Francis are old friends.

"Just don't worry about it, and have fun~" Cariad hummed, pushing me towards the door and thrusting a coat at me seeing as what I was wearing would provide no protection from the cold British nights.

And so it came to pass that a taxi ride later I was back at the office, at the big hall where usually presentations on upcoming projects are given, that some poor bastard had been forced to decorate with as many tacky streamers and balloons as is physically possible. They had even gone so far as to get a gaudy disco ball and some strobe lighting this year.

The music was a far cry from previous events, no longer playing all of the 'classics' of five decades ago, but now playing the overly manufactured crap that seems to be everywhere. I was pondering if I could get away with somehow overthrowing the party and putting The Beatles or The Sex Pistols on, but I happened to clap eyes on Francis hitting on some poor woman who looked completely out of her depth.

Ah, so it looks as though his, 'What's a blowjob between friends?' ethos is still as strong as ever.

I dumped my coat with all the others and walked over purposefully, hoping that my underwear wasn't on display.

"Oi frog, leave the poor lady alone," I said as I sidled up to them. I looked at the poor victim of the Frenchman and offered a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry, legal action can always be taken if necessary."

"Arthur! Don't say such things!" Francis drawled, but during that time the woman had smiled gratefully and all but fled. He sighed, "Why must you ruin my fun?" I was about to say something, but it appeared as though his eyes had finally taken in my new appearance, and I didn't like the leering gaze he had suddenly adopted. "Ohonhon, my my Arthur, I had no idea you would wear something so delectable~"

"Don't even try it," I said resolutely, and suddenly a heavy arm was flung across my shoulders.

"Ah, well if it isn't me wee brother!" Alasdair exclaimed, spilling half of his drink on me in the process.

"Get off, git!"

"Is that any way to greet your own flesh and blood?" Alas questioned, and Francis felt the need to join in with, "Oui, 'e is such a rude person!"

"Don't encourage each other!"

"Anyways," the blonde said, disregarding my words, "I take it that you dressed up like that for your little boyfriend over there?" he asked.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"This 'Alfred' you told me about, I wanted to see if 'e was real and when I asked Alas 'e said 'e would invite 'im. Judging by the way 'is eyes 'aven't left your behind since you walked in, I'd say your outfit is 'aving the desired effect." He seemed both amused and annoyed as he said this, but I was far too busy whirling around to note with mild horror that Alfred was standing there and-

He's a demon.

I have no idea if that outfit of his is a coincidence or if my brothers tipped him off, but he's dressed up as a bloody demon! And let me just say that no man should look as good in black leather as he currently does. Those pants are a crime. They look as though they have come straight out of a porno and yet he pulls it off without looking sleazy. I both love and hate this man for his ability to wear those pants. Those fucking pants! And his black blouse also hugged his figure nicely.

Once I was finally able to concentrate on anything other than those form-fitting garments, I noticed that he had actually dyed his hair black. I could tell it wasn't a wig seeing as that stubborn strand was still standing proud. I also noted, with a hint of pride, that he was indeed staring at my legs.

Huh, looks as though Seamus was right. Maybe I should wear shorts more often when we get a nice day?

My summer wardrobe aside, I felt within my rights to tease the 'so-obviously-checking-me-out' demon across the room, so I wiggled my hips, just because I could. And the way I saw him physically swallow was electric. He glanced up and his bright blue eyes caught mine. And that mesmerising blue was all I can recall for the next few seconds, because I fail to remember when we both crossed the room so that we were stood in front of each other, or when we must have shared some form of unspoken agreement whereby we left the hall and stepped out into the receptionist area.

Alfred was the one to break the silence, scratching the back of his head with a nervous sort of smile playing on his lips. "You look good... really good."

"Y-You don't look half bad yourself," was my reply, even when I could have easily written a dissertation on how amazing he currently looked.

We stood in an awkward silence for a moment before he cleared his throat. "So... this weather, huh?"

Never would I have ever imagined that I would be standing dressed as a slutty angel at the reception of my workplace while an American demon tried to make classic British small talk. It was so surreal that I suppose I thought I may as well carry on how utterly ludicrous this whole thing was and I walked the small distance between us, brought my hand up to tangle in his currently black locks, and brushed my lips against his.

In the grand scheme of things it was probably an average kiss, if one could even call it that. Our lips were barely in contact, and yet it was still enough to make a pleasantly warm, tingly feeling spread over my body. It was nice, and just that was enough. It had been quite a while since I had such a contented feeling flowing through my veins.

The contact was brief, but neither of us pulled away fully, still lingering so that our breaths intermingled, and I am convinced that the close proximity was the reason I didn't pull away stuttering like a fool. Instead there were a few seconds of nothing apart from relishing how close we were, and then we were kissing again. It was definitely a kiss this time, not a brush, and I'm not sure exactly who initiated it, but it really didn't seem to matter.

If he pushed his lips more against mine, I would return the sentiment, and vice versa. It was as though we had already established a balance to the give and take. When that kiss ended, it lead to another, and another, and then things began to get a little more heated as his arms wrapped around my waist and mine wrapped around his neck. His fingertips brushed against my exposed thigh and such intimate physical contact, the kind that I had gone without for so long, caused me to gasp.

That was interpreted as an invitation by Alfred, who cautiously put his tongue into my mouth and from there everything sort of became a blur. I remember using my tongue as well, refusing to let my mouth be so easily dominated, and my hands definitely moved so that they were smoothing over the muscled torso beneath the blouse as his hands roamed my hips and thighs.

"God, I've wanted to kiss you for ages," he breathed against my skin as he moved down to nip at my neck.

"I-Is that so?" I managed as my grip tightened slightly around the blouse.

His response was a grunt, and then his lips were on mine again, and when he got bolder and actually squeezed my bum I let out a small moan. There was definitely movement, though my brain wasn't able to establish the direction until I felt the reception desk at my back. Then the demon hoisted me up so that I was sat on the desk, and the groan that rumbled through my throat was a culmination of the fact that such a bizarre yet amazing person as Alfred was remotely interested in me, and the fact that we were on a desk. My IKEA fantasy had yet to dissolve away.

I wanted him closer, so I wrapped my legs around him to pull him to me, and when we kissed it was more teeth and tongue than lips but I honestly didn't care, I just wanted to keep going and-

"I knew I was right! That'll be ten pounds Franny!" a Scottish accented voice exclaimed, cutting through the blissful haze that had surrounded me just moments previous. Both Alfred and I froze before pulling away quickly, trying to straighten out our respective outfits, and I glared at my brother who currently had a victorious smirk plastered across his face. Francis was next to him, looking surprised, but aside from that I couldn't read his expression.

They kept their presence in the area until it was blatantly obvious that they had made everything much too awkward, and then they simply turned and left, my brother probably going to get more alcohol. I'm sure that with the amount he drinks, alcohol and not blood runs through his veins.

Alfred coughed a bit. "So..."

"So..." I repeated.

We glanced at each other before looking away quickly, him finding a spot on the wall the most interesting thing in existence while I admired the wooden floor.

"If ya don't have any ovens that need watering... Wanna leave and go watch a movie or grab a bite to eat?" he suggested after a moment, and I couldn't stop the smile from spreading across my lips as I accepted.

He grinned and grabbed my hand, with only minimal protest from me, and as we were heading out of the doors the comforting warm feeling in my body seemed to intensify.



Tonight turned out to be unexpectedly great. After ditching the party with Alfred we went to watch a movie. We watched whatever was on at that time, a movie called 'Cowboys And Pirates', and to call the film weird would be an understatement, but I digress.

Afterwards Alfred whisked me away to a romantic meal, by which of course I mean I ended up sat in McDonald's and asking if Alfred was honestly serious about eating at such a place. When he pointed out that we probably wouldn't be allowed anywhere else dressed the way we were I relented slightly, only to be shocked at the fact that he ordered half of the bloody menu and even got into an argument with one of the staff when he didn't get the Happy Meal toy he wanted.

He insisted on walking me home, as if I was suddenly physically incapable of making the journey that I've made for years on my own anymore, but I suppose I can't really complain now that random snogging sessions appear to have become acceptable.

I have to hand it the the lad and say that he knows his etiquette, his hands only moving to grope my behind a couple of times and not taking it any further than pushing me against a wall to ravish my mouth...

Damn, I wish he'd have just played to his demon persona and gone further, but I could hardly push him to do more seeing as it wouldn't be proper on the first... was it a date? I'm not sure; we haven't exactly labelled ourselves yet, which is fine by me seeing as I haven't been in anything serious since The Incident.

Yet even so my mind couldn't help but wander to a place where Alfred and I were fully immersed in the roles of angel and demon, him licking and biting and marking and me completely helpless... or maybe I would turn the tables, shock him, and then he'd end up tied to my bed completely at my divine mercy as I do things that probably aren't even legal but who cares? This is my fantasy after all.

And on that note journal, I have to take care of some urgent business that just came up.


"Where the bloody hell are you?" I asked, looking around at the University gates.

"Hang on, I'm coming! Just wait moment," Seamus said on the other end of the line.

"I'm missing my lunch break for this! Next time you fancy leaving half of your sodding textbooks at home, call Cariad or Alasdair!"

"Ah, stop bitching at me, I already said I was sorry!"

I just huffed and contemplated hurling the textbooks over the gates, leaving him to collect them on the other side, but I thought I'd be merciful.

"Besides I know you don't mind the trip, you're hoping to see Al, riiiight?"

"Stop talking nonsense," I said offhandedly, but I smiled nevertheless.

"Yeah yeah, are you two gonna become official or what? For the past month you've practically been boyfriends.'

I sighed and bit my lip. Seamus had a point. Ever since the office party Alfred and I had been dating in a somewhat haphazard way, but whenever he hints at flat out calling ourselves boyfriends I tense up and change the subject.

My brother echoed the sigh. "You've gotta get over him already. Alfred really cares about you, ya know. I can hardly shut him up from talking about how 'totally awesome Artie is' whenever I see him. Don't you think it's time to let go of your trust issues?"

"Perhaps..." I can trust Alfred, right? Of course I can, he's stuck around for weeks even after getting to know my usually less than sunny disposition. So then maybe...

But that train of thought never arrived at the station, because as I looked up in another attempt to find my forgetful sibling, I caught sight of Alfred. He was grinning as usual, eyes bright and shining, and I would have called out had it not been for the girl walking right beside him, giggling and flushing at his every word and move. When he put his hand on her shoulder and turned her so that they were looking at each other, the textbooks really did find themselves flung over the University gates, and I ran in the opposite direction from the happy couple.

I am such an idiot.



I find myself in a weird state, not sure whether to be depressed, angry, or accepting. I'm not exactly sure if I have the right to be angry with Alfred, after all we aren't official or anything. It's not as if he didn't make it plain he wanted to be, but I was too much of an idiot to just say 'yes'.

A part of me wants to put on every single Adele track I own and get drunk while singing off-key to no one but my cat. It's not as though he was cheating but... it is. Even if we weren't official or here with any labels, we were still... something! If he wanted an open relationship then he should have said something!

But it looks as though acceptance is where I shall go. A part of me has always wondered why someone like Alfred would be interested in me, or even how someone like Alfred could be gay. He can clearly get anyone he wants from the female population, and the male population. So why me? It doesn't make sense.

Seeing that girl with her size ridiculous breasts fawning over him seemed to make more sense. She seemed like the type of girl Alfred would go for, curvy and delicate. And they did look good together as well, Alfred and I probably make one of the oddest matches ever.

It's almost ironic. The moment I think of getting serious this has to happen. It's just like the last time. I suppose there'll always be someone better than me out there, and it's only a matter of time before my current partner figures that out and pisses off.

God dammit, why did this have to happen now? If it happened a few weeks ago then I'd be fine, but now... Disregarding the physical aspect of things, through all of the 'dates' and getting to know each other, I was honestly starting to believe that I could have had something with Alfred.

I guess that he really isn't an idiot; I am.

Why go for a boring 'stick in the mud' Brit who's only asset is apparently his legs when you could have a stunning girl who is at least a 34FF? My life is destined to be boring and monotonous, and I really will wind up as food for my cat once I die alone.

Well, here's to loneliness.


"And so I think that with the yeah and no to the maybe of propositioning and... hey! Are you even listening? Stop moving yer damn frog!" I commanded but Francis was still moving around on my sofa.

"I am not moving, you've just had too much to drink," he said dryly.

"I called you for support not for criticisms! And I am not drunk," I said resolutely.

He sighed and flicked some of his girly hair out of his eyes. "Listen mon cher, you really shouldn't be so upset. 'e didn't seem to be your type anyway."

"Well then who is?" I pouted, taking another swig of rum from the bottle.

Francis looked at me in a certain way, but I wasn't in a perceptive mood, so he opted to lean forward and grab the alcohol from me. Before I could protest, he was suddenly at a much-too-close-to-be-comfortable distance from my face.

"You need someone who is mature, who can satisfy your needs. Someone who just understands you," he said softly, moving closer, but my mind still hadn't twigged where he was going with this.

"Yeah? So where will I find someone like that?"

Francis groaned but kept the close proximity. "Arthur, I am talking about moi."

"Who's Moi? Are they Chinese?"

"Mon Dieu! I mean-!"

Ding-Dong Ding-Dong Ding-Dong Ding-Dong Ding-Dong Ding-Dong Ding-Dong Ding-Dong Ding-Dong Ding-Dong Ding-Dong Ding-Dong Ding-Dong Ding-Dong

"Who the bloody hell is raping my doorbell?" I whined, getting up and staggering slightly, but that was because of the uneven floor, not because I was drunk. Absolutely not. I pressed the button for the intercom.

"Who's there?"

"Oh Christ, you're already drunk!"
"Brawd, let us in!"

"Why are you guys here?"

"Alfred says you've been ignoring him for the past few days and when Alas saw you he said you were zoning out a lot-"
"-You were like a fucking zombie, now open this fucking door!"
"Alas, don't scream at him, it won't convince him at all!"

I groaned at the racket and pressed the button to let them in, barely noticing how Francis was huffing indignantly.

"Arthur!" Cariad exclaimed, jumping on me as soon as he was through the door. "Are you okay? Did Alfred hurt you? You're not sick are you? Do you-"

"Christ, don't suffocate the lad Cari," Alas said, pulling him off of me. He glanced up and his eyes widened when he saw Francis.

"What are you doing here Franny?"

"Your darling little brother called me in tears," Francis said, ignoring my hurled protests on how I was not crying. "I am 'ere to provide, 'ow would you say... Moral support."

As Alasdair moved off to talk with Francis, Cariad and Seamus looked at me with concern.

"Why have you been ignoring Alfred?" Seamus asked.

"Wouldn't want to interrupt his time with his girlfriend," I muttered. When both of them looked confused, I told them of the other day.

"Bastard!" Cariad spat, hugging me protectively.

"Damn, I didn't think he was like that," Seamus said, looking down at the floor. Suddenly someone else decided it was rather prudent to abuse my poor doorbell once more, this time with Seamus pressing the intercom button.


I froze and Seamus scowled.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Oh, hey Seamus... Is Artie there? I wanna know if I did something wrong cuz he hasn't been answering my calls or texts so-"

"Don't play innocent!" my little brother yelled, "Of course you did something wrong!"

"W-What? Dude, can you just let me in and-"

"No way in hell."

"...I'll keep ringing the doorbell until you let me in," he threatened, and a symphony of doorbells soon filled the room.

"Urgh, just let him in. I want to kick his sorry arse anyway," I pouted, pressing the button to let him in before going over to the sofa to sit between Alasdair and the frog.

Alfred made much more of a dramatic entrance than was necessary, slamming the door open and huffing as if he had just run up the seven flights of stairs needed to reach my flat... which I wouldn't be surprised if he did because the lift is hidden around a corner.

"Arthur, can you just tell me what I did wrong? I'll fix it!" he said, actually looking lost and upset. I think it was the first time I'd seen him without his bright grin or a tender smile.

I just turned my head. "You know what you did," I mumbled, and Francis put an arm over my shoulders.

"I think you should just leave 'im alone now."

I smiled gratefully at Francis, but Alfred's eyes narrowed.

"Like hell. What are you doing here?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" the Frenchman smirked.

"All right that's it: Outside."


"I said let's take this outside. Arthur's always telling me how much of a pervert you are and there's no way I'm leaving him with you around."

"Those are some big words coming from someone who isn't even 'is boyfriend," Francis smirked.

I looked between the two, wondering why a heavy atmosphere had descended and was currently suffocating those in the room. Alas looked mildly entertained, but Cariad and Seamus were both glaring at Alfred.

Alfred faltered for a moment. "Y-Yeah, but... but Arthur and I are-"

"What? What are you Alfred? You upset my dear friend and employee, I cannot let you stay. You are just stupid and immature."

"W-Well... So's your mom!" he yelled.

...Did Alfred seriously just make a 'Your Mum' joke?

"Leave my mother out of this!" Francis yelled back, standing up from the sofa. "She's a wonderful and kind woman!"

Alfred clenched his fists, "That's what she said!"

"That doesn't even make sense!"


Somewhere in the background, Seamus went, "OOOHHH, burn!"

The two lunatics advanced, looking as though they were about to wreck my house, but all that happened was a sort of awkward grabbing that turned into hair pulling and slapping. It was the sort of fight one would expect from six-year-old schoolgirls. I wasn't sure whether I was glad or disappointed there were no dramatic punches and kicks, with various pieces of furniture meeting their demise along with a window or two.

It got to the point where the two were merely rolling around on the floor tugging at the others hair that Alasdair actually began to laugh. "Wow, how does it feel to have two grown men fighting over you, little brother?" he asked in amusement.

"Just... just shut up, Alas," I sighed, standing up. "OI! Will the two pillocks currently sullying my floor please piss off!"

The 'fighting' stopped, and Francis got up and straightened out his outfit.

"Arthur, I was just-"

"Save it. I want to be alone so everyone get out of my flat!" I saw Cariad about to protest so, for emphasis, I pointed at the door and said firmly, "Everyone."

The frog stuck his nose in the air and left with a 'hmph', and after stealing some beer from the fridge Alasdair also left. Cari and Seamus took some convincing, especially when Seamus told me he could 'take care of Alfred and make it all look like an accident', but they eventually trusted that I could look after myself.

So that just left Alfred.

"Why are you still here?" I asked, turning around to face him. By this point he was back on his feet and looking weirdly serious.

"Arthur, I've done something to upset you, but I dunno what! Can't you just tell me?"

"Tell you what Alfred?" I yelled, "Tell you that I know about your girlfriend? It's fine if you're together, but then why did you have to string me along?!"


"Don't play dumb!" I gestured in front of my chest to highlight his girlfriend's assets, and his eyes widened in understanding. He actually had the gall to start laughing. "I don't find any of this amusing," I seethed.

"No no, don't get me wrong! It's just that, she's not my girlfriend, no way! That was Katyusha, she's been dating my bro for a while now and she wanted to get him a gift for their anniversary."

I froze. "...What?"

"Honestly, I'm not the type to cheat... even if we aren't official or whatever. I really like you Arthur, but you already know that. I swear I wouldn't do something like that to you, you mean too much already." He laughed again, but this time it was out of nerves. "It's kinda stupid right? I mean, we've only known each other a few weeks and I'm already this worked up over you. All my friends hear is 'Arthur this' and 'Arthur that', they get really mad now, haha..."

"I... I need some tea," I groaned, heading towards the kitchen and mulling over this new information given to me. I filled the kettle and placed it on the stand, flipping the switch and wondering what the next step from here was. By the time I had boiled the kettle, allowed the tea to steep, and had added the perfect quantities of milk and sugar, I felt much calmer and ready to face Alfred.

However the sight that greeted me had pure, unadulterated horror filling me up to the brim. He was reading my journal.

There are various responses that one can have when they discover their innermost secrets being read by someone else. There is the dignified way, in which you calmly go over the person and ask them not to do such a thing again. Alternatively, there is freaking out and causing a scene, rushing to grab the journal in a blind panic.

Sadly, I fell into the latter category.

"W-What are you doing?!" I exclaimed, placing my tea on a side table before running over and practically tackling the American.

"I didn't know you kept a diary Artie," was all he had to say, not even the least bit sorry that he had completely invaded my privacy.

"It's a journal, not a diary! Now what did you read?!" I all but snarled as I grabbed the journal. Alfred held his hands up in surrender.

"Nothing incriminating, I swear!"

I snorted. 'Nothing incriminating'?! If I recall, there are numerous pages where I've penned my less-than-innocent fantasies with Alfred, as well as revealing some pretty embarrassing secrets.

"Hey Arthur?" he asked softly, effectively stealing away my thunder. "What was The Incident? I've heard Seamus and you say it before so... what actually happened?"

I sighed and held the diary close to me, as if it were a shield. "Nothing..."

"Hey, you can trust me you know."

I looked at him smiling gently, the earlier drama forgotten, and looking so understanding and not the least judgmental. He motioned towards the sofa and I slowly edged closer to it as if it were some feral creature that may suddenly attack. Alfred was by my side and we both sat down on opposite ends.

"In my first year of university I met someone," I began, already feeling my throat constricting, as if my body itself was telling me not to relive the memory. But maybe it was about time I got it out. "I've never really been one for making friends easily, and he seemed to be in the same boat. He was simply... different from everyone else."

I took a deep breath and Alfred patted my hand reassuringly. I looked up and wondered when he had moved, but I carried on. "His name was Kiku and he was from Japan. He was majoring in architecture. He was always so calm and collected, so when I tried to speak with him I played it as cool as I could manage and he was the one that ended up flustered in the end," I chuckled fondly at the memory. "So we started going on a few dates, nothing really serious, but then one day I realised that I really really liked this guy. I hadn't particularly been bothered about past partners, but with Kiku..."

I swallowed, and Alfred rubbed his thumb in soothing circles on my hand. "We became official, and dated for three years. We had all these plans, looked at places to move in together, and planned our lives around each other."

Alfred whistled. "I had no idea it was that serious."

I offered a weak smile. "But then one day he had to go to Greece to look at the buildings and architecture over there. Something about looking at how ancient buildings were constructed and how applicable the techniques are in the modern day. Next thing I know, he's eloped with some Grecian man called Heracles."

By this point my head was resting on Alfred's shoulder. "Kiku was always quiet and didn't seem the type to do something like that so it came as a huge shock. From then on I sort of thought, 'Well what's the point?' and wasn't really interested in dating. I tried a couple of times but there was always this constant nagging feeling that they would run off with someone better as well." I chuckled a bit, "And that is my sad and pathetic little tale."

I hoped that I could stave off the tears that were beginning to prick the back of my eyes, and luckily I was when Alfred conveniently distracted me by saying:

"Well, it's his loss."


He looked me in the eyes and smiled. "No one should have to go through that, it must really suck, but in the end he's the one that walked away from someone as awesome as you. I almost wanna thank the guy, cuz now I get to spend my time with you."

I blushed slightly and looked away. "You don't make any sense. You're good looking, smart, just a genuinely nice person... I have no idea why you like me."

"I could say the same about you ya know," he teased lightly, gently touching my cheek. "Thanks for telling me and trusting me," he said softly.

I nodded and let my eyes fall closed as he leaned in, and once again the comforting warmth had returned as our lips met in a sweet kiss.

"Arthur?" Alfred murmured against my lips after a moment.


"Would you be my boyfriend? Officially?"


I saw him grin before he kissed me again, placing his hands on my shoulders. I smiled against his lips, glad I could finally put The Incident behind me, and I licked against his lips in a quest for entrance. The permission was granted and our tongues moved lazily together, before suddenly I was pushed down onto the sofa and Alfred was being more forceful, and I could only try in vain to carry on the battle for dominance. Much to my chagrin I lost it when he moved his knee in between my legs, causing me to gasp.

"A-Alfred, what are-" but my words were cut off when he moved to bite at the junction of my neck and shoulder, causing me to actually moan.

"So, IKEA furniture huh?" he whispered hotly against my ear, and I promptly turned red.

"You bastard!" I managed, "You said you didn't read anything incriminating!"

"Dude, that thing of yours is like an erotic novel," he chuckled, licking the shell of my ear and causing me to shiver.

"Tch, I've actually decided that I hate you..."

"Nah, you love me," he said as he brought our lips together once more.

And all I could think of as we continued the kisses and touches and murmurs of sweet nothings was that, if I actually thought about it, he was probably right.



It has been half a year since Alfred and I became official. I can hardly believe that it has gone so quickly. Of course there are some days when I wonder what the hell I am doing with my life (such as when I discovered that Alfred actually owns a pair of Superman footsie pyjamas), but most days are, at the risk sounding like a complete sap, wonderful.

I'm still adjusting to some of Alfred's 'romantic ways', such as the god awful pet-names (if he calls me 'babe' one more time I will construct a pyre out of those bloody Big Macs he is obsessed with and chuck him on top of it), but the other day he actually bought me flowers for no other reason than 'he loved me', and damn if I didn't grin like a fool for the rest of the day.

And I also completed my novel a while ago. Alfred's comment on how I had a knack for writing the erotic got me thinking, and before I knew it my book was flying off of the shelves faster than Alfred can devour a meal, which meant that I was finally able to escape the prison of my office job and, therefore, the clutches of the frog.

My novel is currently number five in the charts, and I am adamant that I will sell more copies than that Fifty Shades of Shite, because it was simply awful.

(Even if I did get Alfred to trial some of the things with me).

So all in all I feel that things have turned out for the better, the only downside being that my brothers now feel that they have the right to be eternally smug for setting me up with Alfred. But I can live with that, because I have the most wonderful, amazing, brilliant, perfect, [insert more embarrassing synonyms here] boyfriend ever.

And if you are Alfred and happen to be reading my journal again, (because don't think that I don't know you do it, why else do you think I've stopped writing in this thing as much?), then please note that you are a completely idiotic git who has no morals to be reading someone's innermost thoughts.

And I love you.


Man that was fun to write, sorry it's so long, and well done if you made it to the end! You win nothing! :P So my darling LucyMoon1992, you have ended up with a novel XD I hope everyone who's read this enjoyed it even a little bit, and reviews are super appreciated. They could be a late B-day prezzie for me? :3

Well, see you in another story~