(USUK celebrity AU. 1763 words)
He didn’t like crowds and their shameless screaming, their embarrassing costumes, the way they hustled after him for his autograph despite his manager’s best efforts to keep them at bay. Nor the fangirls who obsessively shipped him with every single person he breathed around, or the way haters took his words and twisted them out of shape.
He preferred solitude. Peace and quiet.
Which made his identity as a celebrity all the more ironic.
Always a fan of rock, he had vowed to share his love and music to the world, to show the dominant pop fans that guitar shredding hasn’t gone out of style yet. He wanted - needed - everyone to enjoy the charm and liveliness of his crazy playing, which started out in his younger years as a coping mechanism. Of course, he had his favourite rockstars to fuel his ambition with their popularity and performance. Especially that young one only a couple years younger than he was, still fresh and new to the industry. The American with pretty blue eyes and an annoying clump of hair that defied gravity, who came with fangirls attracted to his physical attributes like iron to a magnet. Their craziness made Arthur sick, but at the same time he couldn’t quite blame them. However, it was more of his brilliant voice and catchy beats that made his fame. It was what caught most of his fans, and also exactly what Arthur longed to have.
Sure, he dreamed big and far, but his fame bursting through the roof was the least of his expectations. He’d hoped to gain a small following at the very least, but now as he stood breathless amongst the blinding lights, dazed in the ear-splitting screams echoing off the walls, he’d began wondering if this was such a good idea after all.
This was the complete opposite of solitude.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your support! Now may we have another round of applause for Arthur Kirkland!” The emcee emerged and yelled.
Arthur swore it was the most deafening noise a hall of people could make. No, rather than a “hall”, it was more like half the population of England. Arthur blinked and snapped out of his stance, and forced out his thank yous at the crowd.
The crowd he didn’t like.
Arthur retreated to the welcoming darkness of the backstage, where a staff member gave him his room number for the private guest restrooms. “Thanks,” Arthur only gasped weakly, managing coherent walking only before he turned the bend, where, thankfully, no staff or cameras were present. Arthur practically hugged the wall staggering to the rooms.
Well it so happened to be a day he didn’t bring his damn glasses.
Arthur didn’t like the idea of rockstars with glasses, nor was he ever in favour of the troubles that came with contact lenses. That morning he’d woken up late, and rushed to the venue after forgetting to bring his glasses. Now, as he stood in front of the ridiculously high door signs, was that a 206 or a 208? Arthur squinted till he couldn’t anymore, then decided to simply enter what he hoped was room 208, never stopping to notice the already unlocked door. He dumped his equipment on the floor and passed out on a chair within seconds.
The exclamation was soft, but the hiss that immediately followed was what caused Arthur to gain some consciousness, and the next moment his eyes were fully open and his senses alerted. The chair toppled with a loud noise as the Englishman stood up so quickly he almost hit his head on the wall beside him.
He was looking at a familiar face, but his foggy brain couldn’t register enough consciousness to immediately recognise the bespectacled blue irises staring back at his green ones.
So much for peace and quiet.
“Fuck!” Said the same voice that woke him up. “I’m so sorry to have alarmed you, sir, I - ” “Who the fuck goes?!” Arthur cut the man off without thinking, clutching his pounding head as the previous stress and impact of suddenly being fully awake hit him. Silence fell and hit Arthur even harder, as he froze and registered his words. He tentatively and slowly looked up -
-and immediately wanted to disappear and never come back.
“Uh - um - I - shit,” he sputtered in obvious panic, which didn’t help his headache. The American was staring at him with an unreadable expression. Arthur dropped his head, not daring to look straight at his blue eyes and that gravity defying clump of hair. Damn it, what was he thinking! Having an outburst in front of Alfred fucking Jones? He was practically begging to get hated. Arthur contemplated knocking himself out when Mr. Jones broke the silence.
“Uh...excuse me. My frightening you was absolutely unacceptable, please, my apologies. I...hit my foot, you see.” His voice was professional but annoyingly loud. (Arthur preferred gentle speakers.) “You are Mr. Kirkland, correct?” “Call me Arthur.” “Arthur, right, sorry, my name is Alfred Jones and I think I ought to tell you that you’ve entered the wrong room?”
Arthur wondered if the height of the building they were in could kill him if he jumped out the window right then.
Or his embarrassment could kill him. Either way was better than the way they stood on opposite ends of the room with Arthur not daring to look at Mr Jones’s face. This wasn’t good - Arthur knew he had to say something. He steeled himself and spoke up.
“I am so sorry Mr Jones, I shouldn’t have lashed out! Although could you tell me what room this is?” “Room 206.”
“I am so sorry about this, Mr Jo -” “Alfred.” Arthur froze at the interruption and tried to calm his oncoming panic attack. “...right, Alfred. Listen, I thought this was room 208, I didn’t mean to intrude, I’m sorry, this shouldn’t have happened, I’ll leave right away.” Arthur was using every ounce of will in his body not to burst into tears as he frantically tried to pick up all his stuff as he spoke. “No!”
“What?” Arthur stopped, surprised by Mr Jones - Alfred’s - reply. “No,” the American repeated, slower this time. “Could you...um…stay for a bit?”
The headache must have distorted his hearing.
“I want you to stay for a bit.”
The headache definitely distorted his hearing.
“Why?” Asked Arthur, but his hands loosened their grip on his instrument case.
“Um...I...can I have your autograph?”
Seems like his hearing has been more than distorted.
Arthur didn’t dare question Alfred, but hurriedly signed on the notepad he was holding out. Seeing Alfred’s eyes sparkle at his new possession, Arthur took it as a cue that he was done here, and Alfred grabbing his wrist contradicted that.
Arthur turned to come face to face with his idol, too close for comfort, and he felt slight heat crawling up his neck. He knew he couldn’t blame the female fans for drooling over Alfred’s looks because damn, he was so eye-catchingly attractive. Arthur didn’t notice himself staring till Alfred looked away, coughing a bit. “I wanted you to stay.” He said, but made no move to tug Arthur.
Of all his fantasies impossible to take place, this came true. Blinking rapidly, he answered, “Sure.” As the two awkwardly moved back in the room.
The silence wasn’t comfortable the way he liked it.
“So.” Alfred initiated without making eye contact, his tone underlined with nervousness, as though bracing himself. “You might not know a small artist like me, but I’m a big fan of yours! Then again you probably get that all the time, but even though I only heard of you after a few years of my own career, I must say I absolutely adore your content.”
Arthur decided that his ears must be majorly malfunctioning today.
“I may not know you? Oh heck, I can’t even begin to say how much inspiration you’ve provided me! I should be the one saying what you just did. There’s no way you’d have known someone insignificant as me!” Arthur blurted without realising.
“I what? Seriously?” He looked up to find Alfred staring at him, eyes filled with shock. Oh fuck it, might as well go all the way. “What I said. I freaking love your stuff, it has everything I look for in music! The beats, the tunes, heck, the lyrics and your voice! Don’t even get me started on how absolutely hot you are.” Arthur confessed in a rush and without stopping. “There I said it...although you’ve probably gotten it a million times already,” he added wistfully.
The silence that followed made Arthur’s racing heart quite loud and he began to wonder if he’d said something wrong.
“Actually...no, I haven’t. Only the ‘hot’ part. People seem to think it’s the only thing good about me. Truthfully that sucks,” Alfred scoffed, looking back at Arthur. “But I’m honestly glad that apparently I can influence people. No wonder I never heard of you before I entered the industry,” he finished with a laugh. “And, you don’t look so bad yourself.”
Arthur was pretty sure the wink he got from Alfred might’ve sent him out the window with the sheer force of his charm. “God, how is it possible you’re single?” He thought out loud, except this time he didn’t regret it. “People set me on too high a pedestal and think I’m too good for them, it gets annoying sometimes...I don’t even have a normal friend anymore,” Alfred sighed sadly, and Arthur felt the urge to give him a hug.
“Hey, I can be your -” Arthur was cut off by the sound of a staff member knocking on the door and calling from outside, “Mr Jones? It’s your turn to prepare to go onstage!” “Coming!” Alfred answered, taking his hand off Arthur’s. He hadn’t even noticed it being there. It suddenly occurred to Arthur that they may not meet each other again. He watched wistfully as Alfred packed his things and scribbled something onto a piece of paper, taken by surprise as he thrust it at Arthur before hurrying out the door, shutting it behind him. His footsteps gradually faded down the corridor. The room became silent.
The Englishman glanced down - the paper had a number and a ‘call me!’ written on it, plus a poorly drawn cartoon face. It was then he realised he’d forgotten to ask for Alfred’s autograph.
Arthur suddenly didn’t enjoy solitude as much as he once did.
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