Hetalia: USUK fanfic- He’s Sweeter Than Sugar (Request from anonymous)
How could anyone live in that dump?? A few houses down from Alfred Jones’ fancy, luxurious 2-story house, there was a similar, but much larger Victorian style mansion- completely in shambles. The windows were boarded up and broken out, the yard was overgrown, and the porch was rotted out. If there was ever a house that looked haunted, it was that one. But it was definitely no ghost Alfred saw scurry across the porch and open the door, late one night when driving home from hanging out with some friends at his favorite sports bar. Despite the fact that this guy definitely had the pale, ghastly looking skin, that was about where the similarities to a ghost ended. This man was very much alive, evident by his...clumsiness? As he tried to open the door, he fumbled his rusted keys and dropped them; when he bent over to pick them up, a shiny book and a piece of malachite fell out of the black cloak draped around his shoulders. As far as Alfred knew, if a ghost carried things with him, he used his supernatural powers to keep everything from falling out, and would probably just go through a locked door instead of taking the time to unlock it.
Alfred hated to be nosy, but every time he drove past that house, or walked past it when he was walking his dog, he would always glance over at it, being careful not to stop in case it was haunted so the ghosts wouldn’t notice him. He hadn’t ever noticed this before, but there would infrequently be lights on- only in one room of the house at any given time- shining through the delicate, lacy white curtains and scratched, dirty windows. The entire house looked pathetic, which furthered the question...if there really was someone living here, why wouldn’t they fix up the place? Did they even notice what a craphole they lived in? The house was a fine, sprawling mansion built in 1905, but it was so beaten down and sad-looking that it may as well have been a simple tool shed- and probably just as dingy and full of cobwebs on the inside. But if it was that bad on the inside, then why were the curtains so white? They seemed to be the only thing there that anyone cared about. Maybe that was why the outside looked so terrible- the man that lived there spent so much time making sure that the inside of the house was immaculate that he couldn’t focus on the upkeep of the outside. There were some times when he was still outside after dark, driving home or just having been caught by the sunset while walking his dog when he started too late in the day, where Alfred could see strange colors of light flashing from what he assumed must have been the cellar door around back; or, once, from the downstairs windows. Was this guy setting off fireworks in his house too?? Alfred thought he would have heard the explosions if it was fireworks, so this just didn’t make any sense to him at all! That wasn’t to say that sometimes there weren’t explosions coming from that house- Alfred hated it most of all when it was in the middle of the night, where everything that goes boom in the darkness sounds like a gunshot. No matter how hard Alfred tried to make sense of everything he’d seen there, nothing fit. It wouldn’t even make sense for that to be a secret alien research facility. One of the very weirdest parts of all to Alfred, however, was that apparently none of the neighbors had any idea this was going on. They swore up and down that the house was vacant, and that the explosions and rainbow of lights were rowdy teenagers going and lighting off fireworks in the basement. It still just didn’t add up to Alfred, though.
But nothing had compared to what had initially seemed like a regular Friday night. Alfred had almost fallen asleep, when there was what sounded like a massive thunderclap, so loud it made the windows buzz- but there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky! He looked out the window, and he could clearly see that, over the thorny bramble climbing up the backyard fence, there was an ominous red light coming out of the basement...and more tiny, glowing white orbs scattered around the house than he had ever seen. He quickly got dressed and ran out onto the street to see what was going on. Once he got out there, almost all of the orbs were gone, but Alfred could still see some floating around the property lazily, and the red light was still there. He hated to do this, but he just had to find out what was going on here. He nervously stepped onto the cracked walkway, almost entirely grown over by the weedy lawn, nervous of what he might find as he proceeded forwards onto the creaky porch until he was in front of the door. His hand shaking, Alfred rang the doorbell. A tremendous, deep, chiming echoed out of the house. The red light and orbs immediately disappeared- something that didn't exactly sit well with Alfred. Moments later, the door slowly creaked open just a crack, allowing a glimpse of the oddly lavish inside- crystal chandeliers, damask wallpaper, marble floors- and of the man he had seen scurrying across the porch long ago. All Alfred could see through the door was his shaggy blonde hair, milky pale skin, his sharp green eyes, cloak draped around his shoulders over a green waistcoat, some kind of white shirt with lace on the cuffs, and brown slacks- and most notably, his massive, bushy eyebrows.
“Why are you here?” the man asked in a very quiet, slightly raspy, but still demanding British accent.
“Um...I wanted to ask what was with the… the red light and stuff? It’s really weird and the noise woke me up?” Alfred tried not to stare at the huge black caterpillars on the man’s head.
“It’s none of your business! Now go away,” the man snapped. He was about to close the door but Alfred stuck his foot in the crack.
The man came back to the door, glaring at him.
“I wanted to ask if you could keep it down to a dull roar,” Alfred said, crossing his arms. “I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one on the street that all this racket is bothering. I mean, come on, man, it's the middle of the night. Couldn't you do this during the day?”
“I do this at night because I can't do it in the day,” he responded.
“What sort of stuff can you do at night that you can't do in the day??” Alfred asked.
“Things that you wouldn't understand! Now go away, I'm very busy with my current...er, undertaking!!!” With that, the man slammed the door in his face.
That sure wasn't suspicious or anything. Alfred went back home, unable to stop thinking about how weird all this was. Curiosity flowed through him like a drug, binding him to that house and its mysterious occupant. He would periodically look out the window into the backyard of that house, only to find that he wasn't able to tell what was going on than any more than before- it still wasn't a good enough view to see more than just the weird colors of light. This continued for days, until he saw a unicorn...dashing out of the backyard...and the man chasing after it??? Something crazy was going on there, Alfred just knew it.
As much as Alfred hated to intrude, he couldn't just sit there and let all this stuff happen without knowing about it. That's why the next morning he came to the doorstep of that old house, with a flashlight in his hand, and a Swiss Army knife in his pocket, just in case a unicorn attacks him or something. He rang the doorbell and waited. In the time that he was waiting, he heard all kinds of curious sounds from inside the house…. sci-fi like levitation noises, random twinkling, even a terrifying roar-scream! But no walking up to the door and angry muttering like last time. Alfred rang the doorbell again. Still nothing.
Okay, something was very wrong with this picture. He tried opening the front door, but it was locked. Alfred ran through the tangle of weeds that was the lawn to the backyard, where the gate had literally fallen off its hinges. Taking his knife out, he walked around the absolutely disgusting fountain onto the cracked bricks of the back porch, and tried the back door. Not only was it locked too, but the knob was rusted, and wouldn't even jiggle as a typical locked doorknob would.
Alfred was starting to worry. Was that man okay?? What was going on in the house? Had mutants taken the house over and killed its occupant? He hadn't heard the man’s voice at all yet, or anything human in nature… only the chilling sounds of whatever beast was in there.
A bright flash of violet light shone through the cellar doors...one of which was wide open!
Alfred didn't even care about being scared anymore, and climbed down the rickety stairs into the cellar, turning on his flashlight.
It was like walking into Doctor Frankenstein’s laboratory, mixed with tinges of 15th century alchemy. Vials of neon colored liquids lined the walls on wooden shelves, arranged carefully by size. A pot-belly stove sat in the corner, with a massive copper pot on top, filled with a foul-smelling black boiling goo. Books lay open on every surface, except for a few levitating books. There were empty cauldrons and large crystals lining the walls, and all manner of large, intricately carved sticks. Alfred walked across the room tentatively, carefully observing his surroundings. He looked down and noticed he was standing in the middle of a pentagram painted on the stone floor, surrounded by small candles. Alfred jumped and ran out of the summoning circle, staring at it. He then turned around and started for the door again. Past the summoning circle, around a bend, was mostly ordinary looking objects… the operative word being mostly. There were things like a chair turned upside down on the floor, an inexplicably floating table, a vase that would slide across the floor every so often, and a ceramic poodle statue that, as soon as it noticed Alfred, opened up its red glowing eyes, and let out this surreal sounding, deep bark that sounded more like ten poodles barking in a cave.
Creeped out by the poodle statue, Alfred turned around and ran back towards the door to the rest of the house. The door to the rest of the house was thankfully unlocked.
He opened the door and found himself in a hallway. It was just as Alfred thought- the inside of the house was beautiful and immaculate. There wasn't a single cobweb or blemish on the ornate damask wallpaper, nor a strand of the runner carpet out of place.
Alfred walked down the hall, mesmerized by the cleanliness of everything. But when he reached the end of the hall, what he saw shocked him. The window didn't look dirty at all from the inside, yet he had seen this window from outside, scratched and marred with age.
Alfred stopped before a painting of one of the queens of England, and he noticed it seemed to be one of those trick paintings where the eyes always look directly at the person viewing the painting no matter where they stand.
“My, today is just lovely, isn't it?” the painting spoke. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”
Alfred screamed and ran back down the hall. That painting just talked to him! This house was really starting to play tricks on his mind. “What an odd young man,” he heard the painting say faintly from down the hall.
Suddenly there was a brilliant flash of red light from the door back out to the cellar, followed by black fog creeping out into the hall. Alfred stuck his head into the open door, and looked inside.
The room was full of red light, and directly inside on the summoning circle, a figure shrouded in tattered black robes, with only its wings, skeletal hands and shining red eyes visible, floated on a swirling cloud of black fog.
Alfred screamed and slammed the door. He liked the talking painting better than this. He turned around to go explore the other end of the hall...and was face-to-face with the demon he just saw.
Alfred tried to run but it snatched him up by his shirt with its bony hands. It wordlessly scrutinized him, and threw him on the ground.
“Stay back! I've got a knife!” Alfred threatened in a tight, wavering voice, reaching for his Swiss Army knife. The demon let out a low growl and, with a swish of its hand, the knife was out of Alfred’s pocket, encapsulated in a red orb, and incinerated into ashes that swirled down to the carpet gently.
“Dammit, that cost sixty-” Alfred was cut off by the demon encapsulating Alfred in a translucent black orb.
“See… you… in… hell…” the demon slowly and deliberately said with a voice like nails on a chalkboard.
Was that… Alfred could feel the life forces being drained from him slowly. This was the end, wasn't it? This wasn't how he wanted to die, in some trippy house, killed by a demon!
The world began to fade around him…
Alfred, all at once, felt his body fall onto the ground. He sat up, gasping. “What happened???” he asked, looking around the hall.
The man with the large eyebrows and black cloak from earlier knelt in front of him, a wooden, curved staff in one hand and a glowing crystal in the other. A spell book lay open on the floor.
“You died, for just a moment,” the man explained, moving closer to Alfred. “I saw him as he was starting to remove your soul. But I trapped him in this crystal and returned your life energy to you. I saved you.”
Alfred looked around again, sighing and laughing a bit. “I survived,” he said. “I'm alive. I'm actually alive! I.. I don't know how to thank you! Thanks…”
The man pulled down the hood of his cloak and stood up, smiling just a bit. “Arthur. Arthur Kirkland.” His forest green eyes were full of a mystical light and joy at having defeated the demon.
“...Arthur,” Alfred finished his sentence.
“What were you doing in my house??” Arthur asked, holding his hand out to help Alfred get up.
“I was worried about you.” Alfred took his hand and got up. “I mean, there were all these scary noises, and you didn't answer the door! I thought something killed you.”
“I kept you away from here for a reason. It's just too dangerous here. But I should have known someone like you wouldn't listen,” Arthur chastised him, shaking his head.
“I'm sorry, but I thought you were dead! Is it wrong for me to be concerned about you when I don't even know you?” Alfred said.
“Thanks for checking on me, I'm fine,” Arthur said shortly. “Now you know the truth. I'm a wizard. You know why my house keeps making weird noises.”
“Really? Aren't wizards supposed to be all wrinkly and old, with the weird pointy hats with stars?” Alfred asked.
“Why does everyone I meet think that?? This is part of the reason I don't tell people I'm a wizard. In reality, most wizards look pretty normal, save for sometimes having a clothing item that enhances our magic capabilities, like my cloak. In this case it also serves as storage.” Arthur looked up at the ceiling. “I know you walked across the summoning circle. That's why that demon appeared. This is a dangerous place for anyone without magic. Come, I'll walk you to the front door.”
Arthur led Alfred down the other end of the hall, stopped about halfway there to greet a painting of Winston Churchill- which really gave Alfred the creeps when he tugged on his jacket and muttered a greeting back around his cigar- and unlocked the front door.
“You can just go on home now...but wait. Before I go, I just wanted to know your name,” Arthur said.
“My name is Alfred Jones, and thank you once again for saving my life,” Alfred answered, holding his hand out.
Arthur timidly shook it. Alfred noticed how soft and silky smooth his hands were. The kind of hands used to holding wands and turning spell book pages.
“Until next time, Arthur.” Alfred turned around and started down the walkway to his house.
All Alfred could do was smile as the windows of Arthur’s house glowed with a green light.
It wasn't too long after Alfred sat down to his usual fast food dinner, a day after the fateful first visit to Arthur’s house, that there was a knock at the door.
When he answered it, a nervous Arthur stood on the doorstep, his cloak pulled tightly around his shoulders with one hand and the other behind his back, and his feet turned inward. To all the neighbors he probably looked like a vampire trying to weasel his way into the house.
“Arthur? What's going on?” Alfred stared at him curiously. He hoped he wouldn't notice that there was ketchup on his shirt.
“I… I just wanted to say thank you…” Arthur said. “You were the only person who gave me a chance. Other people are so judgmental, and run from me… but you sought me out. And that you said you were worried about me… you are just too sweet. That's why… that's why I put this together for you.”
He held out a basket, with a nice little purple ribbon on the handle, full of all kinds of sweet treats.
Alfred excitedly took it. “This is awesome! How did you know I loved cupcakes?”
“Who doesn't?” Arthur chuckled at his own comment. “I made all those, except the butterscotch candies in the bottom of the basket, from scratch. Go on, try one!”
Alfred set the basket on the porch end table and unwrapped a chocolate muffin. It looked good enough, he thought. He took a bite of it, and his eyes went wide in surprise. It wasn't sweet at all, and it was pretty dry.
“So? What do you think? I've never cooked for anyone but myself before so I was sort of scared to make these...but I just knew you'd love them!” Arthur beamed.
There was no way Alfred could crush Arthur's spirit like that, with his green eyes sparkling like fireworks and that cute smile with his uneven teeth showing… it’s the thought that counts, right?
“This is absolutely delicious, Arthur,” Alfred forced himself to say, grinning. “Best muffin in the whole dang world. Thank you!”
“I've never had anybody to give treats to,” Arthur said shyly. “I'm glad they turned out well.”
“Can I offer some constructive criticism?” Alfred asked.
“Try using more sugar, and less cocoa powder….”
Arthur's eyes went wide. “You have to put extra sugar into them???”
“Yeah,” Alfred said, ashamed that he got caught lying about the muffin being good.
“I thought cocoa powder came with sugar in it!!” He grabbed one of the muffins and bit into it- and immediately spat it out. “It's terrible!! How could you possibly like this stuff?? I'm so sorry these came out so bad!”
“It's okay, Arthur, I'm glad you brought these. They might not be the best, but it's the thought that counts, right?” Alfred said.
All Arthur did was stare at his feet.
“I want you to teach me how to make cupcakes,” he finally said.
“What??” Alfred said. “You're kidding… I can't make cupcakes! I mean, not without a mix! And that's if I'm lucky. I'm sorry but I'm just not a baker.”
Yet somehow, later that evening, he stood in Arthur's kitchen, staring at an empty bowl and the crumpled piece of paper that held a cupcake recipe he printed out just before coming over. Arthur looked over his shoulder.
“What's a ‘tisp’?” he finally asked.
“A what?” Alfred held up the flour bag and shook it. Little white clouds of dust spewed out of the partially open top and made both of them cough.
“Look, see,” Arthur pointed out on the paper once the flour settled. “It says one ‘tisp’ of butter.”
“I think that means teaspoon,” Alfred said. “Or is it tablespoon? Ugh, I don't remember. My mom would know. She was great at cooking. Measuring, too.”
“I didn't measure the ingredients when I made those cupcakes and muffins,” Arthur confessed.
“That's an issue. They put the directions on cake mixes for a reason,” Alfred said.
“Let's start measuring?” Arthur held up the paper. “What goes in first?”
“I think you put the dry ingredients and then the wet stuff like eggs and milk?” Alfred realized he really didn't know either. His mom hadn't taught him how to make cupcakes from scratch either. He hated to admit it but pretty much the only way he could bake was if he used a cake mix or premade cookie dough.
After some disagreement, they got all the ingredients into the bowl.
“So is it ready to bake?” Arthur asked.
“No, we need to mix it.” Alfred looked around the kitchen. “Do you have a mixer?”
“I think so, somewhere in a drawer.”
Alfred looked through all the drawers in the kitchen until he found an old electric mixer.
He plugged it in, and turned it on.
“Now you just put it in there and stir it!” Alfred gave the mixer to Arthur. He dipped it into the top, which flung egg whites around.
“No, no, put it all the way down! All the way down!” Alfred cried out.
“I'm sorry,” Arthur said.
“Here, I'll help you stir it…” Alfred took Arthur's hand and gently guided his arm as he stirred the cake ingredients.
After a few minutes the batter had been mixed.
“Does this- does this look okay?” Arthur asked.
“I think so,” Alfred said. He dipped a finger into the batter to taste it. “I mean, it definitely tastes sweet enough. Let's put it in the cake pans! You do have cupcake pans, right?”
“In the oven!” Arthur declared.
“We preheated the oven!” Alfred cried, running to the stove with oven mitts in hand. “You're not supposed to put the cupcake batter into HOT pans!”
“I'm- I'm sorry,” Arthur apologized.
“It should be fine anyway. Here, let's pour the batter in…” Alfred said.
The fact that as soon as the batter touched the hot pans it sizzled and bubbled didn't look right to Alfred but they put the cupcakes in the oven this way anyway.
“Now cook for 30 minutes,” Alfred read off of the page.”
“In the meantime, may I show you my library?” Arthur suggested.
“It's not like I have anything better to do,” Alfred said over a giggle.
The two men went up the stairs, Alfred being careful to not make eye contact with any of Arthur's creepy talking paintings.
Arthur opened the first door on the right, and before them was a beautiful library, shelves lining the walls and a fountain pen on the ornate writing desk.
“This is beautiful,” Alfred gasped, spinning around the room. “How many books do you have in here??”
“Several hundred, at the very least.” Arthur took a book out of its place on a shelf. “Many of these are very old books. This particular one is from...it seems to be 1899.”
“It looks like new!” Alfred exclaimed, taking the book out of Arthur's hands. The cover hadn't frayed at all, and the crisp pages were still their original silky ivory white color.
“Well, restoration is so much easier when you can use magic,” Arthur said with a chuckle.
“What else have you got in here?” Alfred gave the book back to Arthur, looking around the room excitedly. He hadn’t been much of a reader before, aside from reading texts and posts on social media, but somehow, Arthur was able to get him all excited about books.
“Alfred, I think a better question would be, what don’t I have?” Arthur hesitated for a moment before taking Alfred by the hand and leading him around the room, showing him his favorite books. Alfred noticed Arthur only let go of his hand when he absolutely had to, to get books from the top shelves or things of that nature that required two hands. It wasn’t too much of a surprise to Alfred, but he was just fine with this.
“Wow, this book smells weird,” Alfred observed, giggling a little when Arthur opened a book of Shakespeare’s plays. “It smells almost like something burning!”
“It does?” Arthur leaned in and sniffed the pages of the book. “It just smells like paper to me.”
Suddenly, out in the hallway, a faint, “Arthur!! Arthur, it’s an emergency!” rang out.
“The Queen’s calling us!” Arthur practically dragged Alfred downstairs to see what the painting wanted. The burning smell was much stronger down here.
“Pardon me for interrupting, but your cake is burning!” the painting cried out.
“Oh, God, the cupcakes!! I forgot!!” Arthur exclaimed, running to the oven and turning it off. Alfred put on two oven mitts and opened the oven door. Smoke poured out of the oven, filling the kitchen with a terrible burnt smell. Alfred picked up the charred cupcakes and set them on the countertop. They didn’t even look like cupcakes; instead, they looked more like dark volcanic rocks sitting in cupcake pans.
Alfred and Arthur stared at the cupcakes in disappointment.
“You like your cupcakes well done?” Alfred finally asked. “At least they’re not going to be gooey in the middle!”
Arthur laughed, though he was still disappointed about the cupcakes being burnt.
“I’m sorry, Alfred,” he finally said after a few minutes. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have brought you up to my library. If we had stayed down here on the lower level, we would have heard the timer.”
“It’s okay, Arthur, this was just your first lesson.” Alfred put an arm around Arthur’s shoulder, looking into his eyes knowingly. “Looks like the lesson here was: don’t leave your food unattended!”
“Can- can we do this again tomorrow?” Arthur asked, smiling. “I like baking with you. I feel like you’re the only person I’ve ever really been able to have fun with.”
“How about brownies?” Alfred said.
Every day that Alfred wasn’t busy after that, he came over to Arthur’s house, with new recipes, ingredients and baking supplies. Ever since the first time they had successfully created a finished dessert that wasn’t burned, their cooking lessons were filled with friendly touches and caresses, shy glances and turning away once the other noticed he was staring, and occasionally feeding each other the delicious treats they made together.
This all eventually culminated in Alfred one day suddenly bolting upright in bed, realizing that he wanted to be more than friends with Arthur. His feelings didn’t come as a surprise to him, but what did was the realization that it seemed like Arthur wanted to be more than friends too. Alfred had to tell Arthur how he felt, but it was just such a precarious subject. He had to word it just right, or he’d risk losing everything he and Arthur had achieved so far, over these months they’d been friends, since that first day Alfred went and knocked on his door with peeling paint. Three days, countless Google searches for “how to tell your friend you want to be more than friends” and lots of worrying later...there was a knock at Alfred’s door.
Alfred answered it. His heart thudded to a stop when he noticed it was Arthur, once again, hiding something behind his back. His cloak was drawn down over his shaggy eyebrows, and he looked even more pale and nervous than usual.
“Is- is… is something w-wrong?” Alfred managed to stammer out.
“Um…” Arthur hesitated, staring into Alfred’s eyes and seeming to zone out for just a tiny second. “Oh. Right. I… I noticed that you didn’t come by for our cooking lessons in the past few days…”
“Oh. I’m really sorry about that. I was...busy...doing things…” Alfred mentally facepalmed. That reeked of awkwardness. He couldn’t sound more like he had something to hide if he tried.
“I was a little bit worried about you. I’m- I’m really glad to see your face again.” Arthur smiled feebly.
“I’m glad to see you too, Arthur.” Alfred tucked a piece of his blonde hair behind his ear.
“It- it gave me some time to think about...er….things. Can- can I come in to tell you...the news I have?” asked Arthur. He sighed deeply. “I’m not sure whether it’ll be good news or bad news to you. I imagine bad news.”
“S-sure,” Alfred answered, surprised. He stepped out of the doorway, letting Arthur inside. Arthur carefully walked through the door, making sure to not show what was behind his back to Alfred.
Alfred closed the door, making note of the fact that whatever Arthur had made a rustling noise.
Arthur looked around the room. The inside wasn’t quite as spotless as in Arthur’s house, but it still looked presentable. Shelves containing various sports memorabilia and American flag motif items lined the walls, interrupted only by the wall-mount flat screen TV and entertainment center. A large bookcase filled with DVDs and video games sat next to the leather sectional sofa, which had a throw blanket featuring a bald eagle draped over the armrest on the chaise lounge.
“What was the news you wanted to tell me?” Alfred asked, settling down into the recliner.
Arthur took a deep breath and tried to not look nervous.
“I had some time to myself when- when we weren’t having our lessons, and I realized something. Something rather astonishing.” Arthur hesitated, then continued. “I realized- I… Alfred, I’m- I think you… I wanted to be… I love you, Alfred.” Arthur instantly regretted wording it this way. What if it came across as creepy? He shut his eyes tight, and held out the roses, white lilies and deep blue chrysanthemums he had brought out to Alfred.
Alfred didn’t say anything, his eyes and mouth wide open in shock. After a moment he took the bouquet, staring at it.
“Arthur, I…” Alfred was too surprised to say anything.
Arthur slowly opened his eyes. The expression on Alfred’s face was too hard to read. Was he angry or happy?
His question was answered when Alfred jumped up out of the chair, threw his arms around Arthur and kissed him on the lips.
Arthur pulled away instantly out of shock, but upon seeing the hurt in Alfred’s blue eyes, realized this was the wrong move to make and kissed him back instead. Neither of them could believe this was really happening. Besides abstract love, the only other thing running through both of their minds was that they should have done this earlier.
After they parted, it was now Arthur who was left speechless.
“Arthur, I wanted to tell you the exact same thing,” Alfred said, cupping Arthur’s chin in his hand. “That’s why I didn’t come by. I was trying to figure out how to tell you how I felt. And then you came over with flowers, in my favorite colors too, and- and that was the only way I knew how to tell you I felt the same way. I love you too.”
None of his magic potions he’d tried had made Arthur feel quite this way before. This was what being in love felt like? It had been just as good as all the authors who wrote about it said it was- possibly even better. No- definitely even better. They hadn’t been in love with Alfred Jones, and he hadn’t loved them back.
Their cooking lessons resumed, but this time they spent the time waiting for the cakes, brownies and macarons to bake doing things such as kissing in the dining room, or sometimes just holding onto each other and wondering exactly how they got so lucky as to be brought together.
It was Arthur, actually, who had suggested they go on their first proper date...which would actually have been the first time Arthur had been out in public with regular humans since he was a young child. Alfred was kind of surprised that he wanted to do this, but Arthur had said to him that he gave him the courage to try all sorts of things he wouldn’t have so much as dreamt of doing before. And so the two men went out for dinner at a nice Italian restaurant. Arthur didn’t even care that almost all of the patrons had been giving them funny looks- most of them for Arthur’s odd, almost vampire-like appearance, and some of them for the fact that they were two men on a date together- and neither did Alfred. Their date went splendid, even during the part where Arthur attempted to offer the waiter a charm or enchantment of his choice as a tip.
But the very best part was the kiss good night. It further reminded both of them of the loving, intimate bond that neither of them had ever expected that they would one day share, as did all the kisses they shared after that.
For Alfred, curiosity most definitely didn’t kill the cat. He had never been so thankful to have been a concerned neighbor. He thanked his lucky stars every time he held Arthur close to him and kissed him that he visited that run-down, beaten up old house so long ago.
