Scars That Run Deep (America / England)

[England - Arthur Kirkland]

It was one of those nights that Arthur enjoyed more than most of their other nights out because the mixture of the dim, warm lights of the restaurant, and the soft glow of the night sky as they made their way back, along with the shared bottle of aged red wine gave an almost surreal vibe to the night. It made him feel disconnected from the rest of the world, the stress of what was going on beyond their little night out was absent, and the unpleasant things that they didn’t normally talk or think about was also wonderfully absent. Arthur’s typically sharp gaze was glazed over and warm as he walked only slightly off next to Alfred, his arm wrapped around his to keep himself steady. It was very cold outside, and snow was starting to drift around them, but Arthur couldn’t feel anything but the warmth of the wine in his blood and the pronounced, occasional racing of his heart when he felt Alfred close next to him. Even now, many decades after Arthur had said yes to him, he still felt ridiculous and dispersed, as if he suddenly had little true control over himself. This feeling frightened him just as much as it made him feel happy. Or at least he hoped that the feeling was happiness—Arthur honestly couldn’t remember what it was supposed to feel like prior.

Once they reached Alfred’s place, or at least one of his places, Arthur followed in quickly and made his way over to turn on the heat after peeling off his gloves. He had to unwrap the heavy scarf and peel off his snow dampened coat before making his way onto the sofa. He wished there was a fireplace in here to mix with the warm wine in their bodies, to resume that glow from the restaurant and the conversation that had followed there.

When Alfred was close, Arthur had playfully tugged him down, firmly enough to try and have him collide against him on the sofa. He laughed with the feeling, the amusement almost sounding muffled in the tipsy haze, because he liked when they were a mess, a tangled mess where nothing made sense. His fingers pushed against Alfred’s soft sweatshirt, slid slowly around his torso and down his sides to remind himself that he was there. That he wouldn’t go anywhere. He’d been saying the same thing to himself for years, for decades since this started. He was afraid that one day this would just be another alcohol-induced dream, and that he would wake up with the taste of stale whiskey in his mouth, his legs tangled in cold bed-sheets.

”That was really lovely,” he murmured, his voice low and soft with the effect of the wine. Arthur’s nose was against the edge of Alfred’s collar, close to his neck where he could catch his familiar scent, laying against him. Smells typically didn’t make their way into dreams, so it was the most reassuring of his senses. Arthur lifted his face a bit so that he could find Alfred’s eyes. A hint of a lazy smile emerged. ”I never used to do dates… not proper dates. Just like I never did serious relationships.” The thing with wine, or any sort of alcohol, really, was that it had the annoying tendency of stripping away the barriers that thoughts and words were typically sorted through. Under the spell of even just a few glasses of wine, Arthur said what was truly on his mind, for better or for worse. It also had a tendency to decide that it was high time for a deep conversation while thoughts were muddled and words and feelings were more honest than intended. But right now, all of that wasn’t running through Arthur’s mind, his only focus was on the warm feeling inside, the very real press of his fingers down Alfred’s body, and the blue of his eyes looking back at him.

tag // America - Alfred F. Jones
notes // here we are

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

It was these sleepy little nights that made everything worth it. For all of the days that he felt like he wouldn’t make it, he had this to turn everything around. It would have been a lie to say that he always wanted life to be as smooth and calm as this, but he certainly wasn’t going to turn down these moments. Under the romantic wisps of snow against the night sky he leaned into Arthur. It was a good night to walk home. It was cold, but nothing a little alcohol and a warm body couldn’t fix. Arthur was warm against him as they walked back toward his home. Dinner couldn’t have went better. These kind of date nights needed to happen more often if they were always going to be this pleasant. It was a great change of pace from what he was used to. It was also a great opportunity for Arthur to surprise him, which was something that he was still trying to get used to. It wasn’t like Alfred was super vulnerable all the time but Arthur being vulnerable was rare. The more time they spent together the more he felt like he could get closer to him emotionally.

When they approached his home they hurried inside and began taking off the heavy articles that were keeping them warm. Arthur beat him to the thermostat while he was taking off his coat. It was a good idea with how much the temperature had dropped. Alfred shed his coat at the door and followed him when he was pulled toward the sofa. Dropping over top of him was not difficult to convince him to do with the tug to his clothes. A sly grin had met Arthur when their chests met and he supported himself on either side of him. The position would have been awkward if Alfred didn’t look so comfortable in it. He could smell alcohol on Arthur’s breath. He’d indulged tonight as well but not as much as Arthur did. Sometimes the amount that Arthur took in worried him. It certainly hadn’t gotten any better with time. It made him feel like he was trying to make something numb, but that didn’t make any sense to him. Why would he want to numb any of his time with him at all?

Alfred kept his smirk as Arthur spoke. He picked at Arthur's sweater teasingly and reciprocated his touch by leaning closer in. “Well, nothing to worry about anymore. I’m the best at dates, really I am. My dates are better than anyone else’s dates and that’s just facts.” He shrugged a shoulder as if that was just easily found information. Everyone he's dated could probably confirm that. Well, almost everyone. Ivan had been his most rocky relationship but that was because Ivan was insane. Sometimes he felt like Yao was insane too, but Arthur would probably back him up on that one. He sighed happily and let his weight down so he could just lay on Arthur’s chest. He’d put himself in the perfect position for that. The fingers that were lightly touching him might have been a little mushed under him, but he didn’t mind. It only made them closer in the end. Arthur could always adjust his fingers or move them around between them. “I love you.” He breathed out with an amount of ease that seemed natural. Alfred’s dating life had been short and rocky but he never had a problem expressing love. When he was stressed he had problems identifying how he felt but love was something that always came easy. He wasn’t afraid of love and it showed in the way he loved others. 

[England - Arthur Kirkland]

A fierce heat crept over his cheeks when he felt Alfred’s fingers against his sweater. His words became a little lost and muddled. He wasn’t the sort who lost his words, and he knew that Alfred probably felt some sort of pride over the fact that he could take them away so easily. Arthur snorted softly with the testament about making the best dates. ”I just like spending time with you. With no one else badgering us with annoying stately questions. I don’t have to think… I can just be myself.” It was a very comfortable and a very familiar position when Alfred laid against his chest. Arthur shifted to move his fingers trapped between them, to instead loosely wrap his arms around him, fingers now lightly trailing through Alfred’s hair, lightly scraping along his scalp. He liked toying with his hair like this, and it seemed to relax Alfred, so he did it mindlessly as the room grew steadily warmer with the heat now filtering in.

Arthur’s blood briefly ran cold, a sobering kind of chill, when he heard Alfred say that he loved him, his pulse briefly quickened in panic before he forced himself to breath and relax himself. It was an instinctive reaction, but it was getting better the longer that they did this. He was steadily learning to allow those words in instead of immediately pushing them away. Knowing that Alfred could probably feel his physical reaction this close to him, he squeezed him gently, reassuringly, his fingers pushing back Alfred’s hair, lips brushing against his hairline. He wished that he could say it back with the same kind of ease that Alfred could. At the same time, his heart ached in that moment, because Arthur knew that he did love him back. He could only feel that familiar kind of quiet ache when it was there.

Instead of responding right away, Arthur allowed his thoughts to settle a moment longer, the wine and the press of the warmth against his chest encouraged him to simply say what was on his mind. ”...Do you know that I love you? That I’ve always loved you? A part of him, even in his slightly muddled state had always wondered if Alfred had entirely believed him whenever he would occasionally voice that. Similarly to Alfred's personal dating history, Arthur's had been difficult and painful, simply more drawn out over many years. Love had always been a difficult emotion for Arthur, but he always could recognize it for what it was.

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

Spending time with Arthur was always nice. It was especially nice when they weren’t fighting. They had not fought in a long time. Occasionally they had a disagreement but nothing like how they used to fight. He was glad that Arthur seemed to enjoy spending time with him too. Just having him close was enough to fill him with all sorts of good feelings. The best one was when his fingers would slide through his hair. His weight laid heavier on him and he mumbled something incoherent as Arthur was able to get a hold on his scalp. If he had a physical weakness aside from his allergy it was scratching his scalp. It was the first step before getting him to go to sleep. Right now, he didn’t want to go to sleep.

When Arthur went still he was slightly worried. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Arthur had difficulty expressing his feelings. Alfred was always a very expressive person and often poured out his heart. He worse his heart on his sleeve and his heart often drove all his actions. It was Arthur that showed him how to have emotional control in the first place. He gave him a few moments to gather his thoughts and just enjoyed the moment. Silence was certainly hard to enjoy but he wasn’t going to force Arthur to respond to him right away.

Arthur answered, and Alfred’s heart skipped a beat. “Always?” He asked as if it wasn’t always so believable. It was easy to say that he’d always loved him, but did he actually always? Sometimes it didn’t feel like it. Sometimes it felt like Arthur hated him. Alfred was in a good enough place to admit to his feelings about that. With a hesitant breath he clarified. “I’ve always loved you too…. Even when I hated you.” He admitted softly to him and turned to rest his chin on his chest instead of his cheek. “I couldn’t forgive you then…You wanted to make me like them…”



As Alfred stared at him Arthur would suddenly find himself falling through the couch. He’d find himself standing in a dark enclosed space. It was an outcove of Alfred’s old room. Arthur would have recognized every nook and cranny since he had never changed it. It was something to what would be called a closet today. Inside was various blankets and a small little journal poking out the edge from underneath them. Soft sobbing could be heard from further inside the room. A peak would reveal a younger Alfred around 17 years of age. He looked visibly shaken and was trying desperately to hold back tears. With each breath he took more tears fell and it didn’t seem like he could hold his own body closer to itself. “I hate you…. I hate you…” He gritted through his teeth and rocked his own body for comfort.

[England - Arthur Kirkland]

”Always,” Arthur murmured without hesitation. His own heart tightened a little with his admittance. He remembered how that love had caused quite a bit of pain as well, but all of that was in the past. Arthur knew that things were different now. His chest tightened uncomfortably again when Alfred admitted to hating him. He knew that he probably deserved to be hated, but he didn’t want to say that out loud. Hate was a strong word to Arthur and he’d never use it unless he really meant it. He listened to Alfred as he continued to speak, and his brow furrowed slightly in confusion when he said that he wanted to make Alfred like them. ”Like… who?” he asked softly.

And when Arthur felt the now chokingly familiar pull of the time slip, he felt a surge of anger against it for disrupting their conversation, desperate to stay in this time. ”No!” he cried out as he slipped through and found himself in a dark space. He was very still, trying to calm himself down. What drew his attention was the soft sound of sobs nearby. It was then with the thin bit of light between the closed doors that Arthur realized he was in a wardrobe. Sudden perspiration broke out along the back of his neck when he realized that it was a younger Alfred sobbing on his bed, the same bed that was still in this room presently, peeking briefly through the crack between the doors.

Arthur’s heart leaped in his chest in horror with where he had landed, his stomach turning a little. No, no, no, no, no, no, no… His fingers tangled in his own hair, pulling as he backed further into the wardrobe. He crouched low, his knees pressed against his chest, his head bowed against his knees as his fists remained balled in his hair. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t relive this. Arthur didn’t want to be here. If only there was a pistol somewhere hidden in the wardrobe, then he could escape this time slip. The first one he actively wanted to escape from.

He noticed something peeking out from the corner of one of the blankets in the wardrobe. He stared at it for a long moment, trying to think rationally, but finding it difficult. Loosening his fists, he quietly pulled out the journal, glancing over the cover to see what it was before carefully opened it to the first couple of pages, briefly glancing over them. Arthur’s mind wandered to what Alfred had said before the time slip suddenly pulled him through and how the younger Alfred was repeating those words. Perhaps he really did hate him. Arthur chewed a little at his lip, trying to find his resolve. It was painful, the reminders of one of the worst heartbreaks he’d ever experienced, but he felt like he should try and see if there was something that he could have done, to discover if the outcome could have possibly been different.

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

Alfred’s soft cries could be heard in little spurts from the other side of the room. Upon the opening of the small book it would be revealed to Arthur as a journal. Just flipping a few pages would reveal that he was inconsistent in writing in it. Some pages were nothing but doodles of little creatures he saw or places he liked. The dates were spread far apart but it seemed like he did write in it every couple of weeks. If Arthur were to skim he would find a few journal entries toward the end about feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. He wasn’t sleeping well and kept mentioning that some days he just wanted to leave and never come home.

While Arthur was looking it over the sobbing got closer. He’d slipped off the bed and sniffled his way toward the closet. His feet drug the floor as he walked and stopped just to the side of the closet. He picked up something and just stood their for a moment before there was a knock on his door. Startled, Alfred rushes back to his bed and curls into the corner of it. Something dropped from his hands and plotted in front of the closet. It was a quaint little stitched stuffed creature. The creature was round with several wiggly arms and tentacles. “Go away!” He shouted from the bed and tried to wipe his eyes. He didn’t want to sound like he was crying.

He thought that it was Arthur but a softer voice spoke up from the door. “Alfred?...It’s me…” A timid voice had spoken from beyond the door. “Go away… I don’t want to talk.” Alfred muffled and wiped his face again. His brother leaned against the door and slowly turned the handle. “Come on Al…” Matthew made his way in slowly and shut the door behind him. “Are you okay?” He asked and walked further into the room. The teenage Canada stopped midway and waited for Alfred to make a move. When he was upset it was best not to push him.

“I’m fine…” Alfred got up and wiped his eyes again. There would be no admission to crying but he doubted Canada would push him for that. After Alfred got up Matthew met him and hugged him. When he pulled back he looked concerned. “Al… Your neck.” He tried to pull back Alfred’s scruff on his collar and Alfred batted his hand away. Matt stepped away with the aggressive slap and looked a little hurt. “You need to tell him.” Matthew stated still concerned about how Alfred seemed to be just pretending like it wasn’t happening. “No! Don’t you say a bloody word to him either!” Alfred snapped at him and moved away. Matt didn’t understand at all and all he ever did was make him feel worse about everything. “I’m not.. I’m not…. Come on… Let’s at least get something on it.” He put his hand out for Alfred to take and Alfred slowly took it. They left the room together.

[England - Arthur Kirkland]

Arthur’s heart ached the closer he got toward the end of the journal that detailed Alfred's desire to leave and never come home, along with the insecurity that he never knew that Alfred struggled with, scrawled amidst his other written thoughts. He closed it and carefully put it back where he found it right as he noticed Alfred moving to the side of the wardrobe. He didn’t see what it was until Alfred dropped it, the small stuffed kraken that Arthur had made for him so many years ago, a toy that he oftentimes used to tell his stories of voyages out at sea and detailing all of his encounters with this creature. His own sight got a tad bit blurry when he saw it, vividly remembering stitching it together, feeling the excitement at the idea of presenting it to him, and then finally gifting it to a young Alfred many years ago.

As Arthur recalled these memories, he watched the exchange between Alfred and Matthew, his interest piquing when Matthew mentioned something about Alfred's neck being injured. A flare of anger washed over Arthur with the thought of someone having potentially hurt Alfred when he heard Matthew urging Alfred to talk about the injury, he assumed with his past self. Arthur waited until the two left the bedroom, and continued to stand still a bit longer to ensure that silence followed before he opened the wardrobe and stepped out. Closing it carefully behind himself, Arthur gingerly picked up the stuffed kraken from the floor, looking it over as he moved over to Alfred’s bed, sitting on the side of it facing the door.

His heart beat so wildly, feeling entirely unprepared for this moment. It’s funny how a man who’d been through death, war, and other horrifying experiences would be so affected, afraid of facing a different kind of pain. There were infuriating moments like this when his heart felt far more fragile than his body. It made him feel weak. Arthur looked down at the stitched kraken between his hands, brief wetness escaped down his cheeks. He quickly wiped at his face before setting the stuffed animal carefully on Alfred’s bedside table.

From the soft lumps and crumpled areas, Arthur could feel that the bed was unmade underneath him, but it was hardly a detail that he minded. His fingers gripped softly at the mused sheets before loosening and reaching for Alfred’s pillow instead. He held it close for a brief moment, breathing in the familiar smell. It was a scent that wasn’t unlike the familiarity whenever he was around present-Alfred. God, he missed him already. Even so, the scent was reassuring, the same one present before the time slip had happened. He placed the pillow back. Arthur resumed glancing over toward the door from where he was sitting, his fingers now fidgeting slightly in his lap, with his palms occasionally pressing against the top of his jeans to get rid of any perspiration.

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

Alfred came back into the room not long after he’d left it. When he opened the door he stood in it for half a second. Hesitation hit his throat right away. If Arthur was in the room that meant that he was already in trouble for something else. The only thing he wanted to do right now was run down the hall and get away from him. Unfortunately, that would only make everything worse. Slowly, Alfred came fully in and shut the door behind him. He was just going to have to make due with what was going to happen. His hand scratched at his neck which was mostly hidden by his shirt ruffles. Only a slight bit of red could be seen if someone was close enough.

“What are you…..Wearing?” He changed was he was going to say just as he stepped up close to him. Alfred was going to ask him what he was doing in his room, but it was probably best he didn’t say that. It was a little bit of a back talk thing to say to him anyway. Instead his eyes focused on the pants he was wearing. It wasn’t too unusual to see Arthur in something different. Fashion changed around here pretty regularly and Arthur was usually the first person in it. He just hadn’t seen anything like this before.

Alfred drew closer and didn’t notice that Arthur had been upset. His eyes were fixated on how weird he looked. He stopped just a few feet away from him and finally broke his gaze from him all together. “I already said I wasn’t going to apologize. I don’t know why you’re trying again.” He huffed and crossed his arms. The teenager was going to stand his ground on this one and had no intention of backing off. It wasn’t the first time he’d been grounded forever and he doubted it was going to be the last. It had gotten to the point to where he just didn’t care about being grounded anymore.

[England - Arthur Kirkland]

Arthur’s gaze was fastened on Alfred when he made his way inside, a flood of nostalgia and love and ache tightening his chest. He knew that he hadn’t really seen Alfred back then, not like how he was seeing him now; how he’d grown, how much taller and stronger he seemed, that familiar awkward mixture of still being a child and growing into a man at the developmental level of being a seventeen-year-old. Arthur had a memory of teaching Alfred to shoot around this time; that might’ve been the first time that he noticed how handsome Alfred was becoming. It was an unsettling feeling, and he remembered being a little more avoidant after that moment, a little busier than usual. Seeing Alfred change like that had given him a variety of feelings, and he wasn’t sure how to sort them out.

Some of that feeling of being upset ebbed away and Arthur couldn’t help the softened, affectionate way that he was looking at the younger-Alfred. No matter what had happened between them, his love for him never changed. He almost wanted to immediately pull him into a hug, he just wanted to hold him and comfort him. Of course, his thoughts were interrupted and he was taken back by the question about his trousers. Arthur glanced down at his lap, gripping lightly against his jeans. ”These? Uh… just a silly fashion. But I don’t think it’ll catch on until much later.”

Alfred brought up that he wasn’t going to apologize, and he seemed upset, crossing his arms. Arthur felt the familiar rise of distress in his chest, but he pushed it back, not wanting Alfred to see that he was feeling upset for different reasons. Arthur honestly also had no idea why Alfred would’ve needed to apologize. If he couldn’t remember now, then it was probably an unimportant past argument between them. ”Oh no… no, that’s not why I’m here… I don’t want an apology,” he muttered quietly, his fingers fiddling slightly at the hem of his sweater. ”I… I’m sorry for coming into your room. May I stay for a bit? It’s alright if you don’t want me to be here.” His voice broke a little bit on the last part, but he cleared his throat softly to compose himself.

He thought it was important to at least ask if it was alright for him to stay. It would be no use trying to talk with Alfred if he desperately wanted him gone. Arthur dared a glance up at Alfred from where he was sitting on the bed, looking at him somewhat earnestly. ”Honestly… I should be the one apologizing. I want to do things better, I want to be here for you… with whatever you need. I want things to be different, better...”

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

Alfred was expecting resistance. He was expecting punishment. Punishment would have been normal for him. Instead he found himself staring at what he felt like was a completely different person. At first he thought he might not have heard him right. First of all, those were amazing pants. His eyes were distracted by then and he found himself stubbornly moving closer to see them better. Those pants were really nice, if he wasn’t so upset he might ask Arthur if he could have a pair.

But he didn’t want a pair! His eyes caught with Arthur’s and he tried so hard to stay mad. This must have been some kind of trick. Each sentence that Arthur spoke made less sense than the last. As he carried on his shoulders dropped and for just a moment he fell into his gaze. A part of him wanted to hear all of that so much that he was willing to buy into it. He wanted so badly for that to be the case, for Arthur to actually be sorry. If Arthur actually cared about him. “…I mean…I…don’t know what to say….It’s okay I guess… I …Mean…It’s” He began to stagger and stumble on his words like he was overwhelmed.

“Are you drunk?” He asked with a bit of venom on his tongue as he tried to snap out of it. His hand went to his neck and rubbed again. His hands couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting. His nails raked over his skin and he turned around so Arthur couldn’t see him. He’d move the ruffles and try to reach it better. Now the medicine was completely rubbed off and negated anything that Matt had tried to do. He’d probably be upset with him, but it wasn’t like it was going to work anyway. These rashes had been popping up everywhere and they were driving him insane. He did his best to hide that and turned back around when he was done itching. While he was scratching he’d forgotten to think about words. As he stared at him again his brain exploded into different directions.

[England - Arthur Kirkland]

Arthur at first felt a hint of a blush starting when he noticed that Alfred was staring at his trousers. He wasn’t sure why his trousers had become such a focus in these past couple of time-slips. It was a little weird. Aside from that, all of Alfred’s reactions were very familiar and they stirred many timeworn memories in Arthur. He remembered how Alfred’s shoulders would sometimes fall a little like that whenever they were talking, whenever Arthur's eyes were on him. Looking at it now, it just made him feel a little more guilty for causing Alfred to react like that. He immediately caught on how Alfred was starting to feel overwhelmed with the situation, how he would lose his words, and he knew that he probably shouldn’t have said so many things like that on the spot.

Of course, with Alfred’s accusing question if he was drunk caught Arthur off guard and he became somewhat flustered. ”Wh-What? No, I’m not drunk.” Although, he supposed that was a fair question, considering. His eyes followed Alfred as he turned around and tried to hide the painful-looking itching from him. Worry tightened in his chest. He knew exactly the moment when Alfred started to lose some of that control (emotional or physical) that they would practice regaining when Alfred was younger. Arthur didn’t really think first, he just naturally slipped into his role to assist him, to soothe him.

His expression softened as he got up from the bed, approaching Alfred. ”It’s alright, darling… We don’t have to talk right now… I have something that can help with your skin if it’s uncomfortable.” He reached over to gently take Alfred’s hand, leading him to the bed. ”Sit here, love. I’ll be right back,” Arthur still remembered where he would’ve kept everything like the back of his hand. The memories were very much alive, everything about this era was still alive to Arthur, moments in time that he always cherished, even if it also included some of the most painful memories he’d ever experienced. Arthur made his way in their home to where he kept some of his remedies and ointments, all of which were very old recipes from a different time when nature was all that his people needed to care for their needs. Herbs, flowers, and other greenery, along with the secret knowledge behind it.

Arthur made his way back into Alfred’s room with a few of these items, and he sat next to him on the bed before setting the containers and bottle on the bedside table. ”Now then… will you show me?” he asked, a gentle tone. Arthur typically chose his words thoughtfully when Alfred was feeling overwhelmed so that it was entirely optional to respond back with words. ”The skin is a bit odd sometimes with reactions… even when someone rolls around in poison oak, or if the cause is something deeper… The least I can do is take away the pain for now, to try and help the skin calm down a bit,” he continued to murmur. Arthur opened one of the containers that contained a cream, and it smelled rather herbaceous, a very light, earthy aroma. He scooped some of it out so that Alfred could see what he was doing, rubbing it slightly between his fingertips.

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

There was a pause in Alfred’s shifting as Arthur spoke again. He felt like he might he might have been in some weird dream. Why was Arthur doing this? He couldn’t help but keep going over in his mind that it was a trap. This had to be a trap somehow. He was trying to get him back on his side and then all the punishment would come later. A visible flinch came when he talked about his skin. Did he know? Was it obvious? How could he have been so stupid… Of course, he knew. Alfred couldn’t stop touching it after all. He’d just hoped that covering himself in enough clothes would hide it, but if his brother noticed….

For lack of any other kind of direction he allowed Arthur to take his hand. He went to the bed with him slowly and sat down. This was a conversation that he really didn’t want to have but it seemed like Arthur already knew. Did Matt tell him maybe? He waited patiently for Arthur to come back. Alfred had calmed a little since he left and got his exploding amount of thoughts together. His feet still swung from the bed and when Arthur came back he looked slightly nervous again.

It was good that Arthur was talking because Alfred couldn’t seem to get a sentence straight in his head. Each time he tried to say something it came out in his head like a crossword puzzle instead. For a few seconds he just tried to focus on one sentence at a time. Would he show him? Showing him could be a dangerous thing. He didn’t know why he was breaking out in hives so much. His explanation would have made sense except he hadn’t been around anything like that. Alfred unbuttoned his shirt and took off his undergarment. It was a lot to take off for just the top half. Underneath was more exposure to the short amount of redness that hugged his neck. It stretched all across his chest and down his body. It was a safe guess that the rash was basically everywhere but his face.

“I don’t know why it’s happening. I didn’t want to tell you. I thought it would just bother you. Did Matt tell you? I haven’t been around anything like that. I haven’t I swear. Don’t be mad. I don’t know how it happened. It hasn’t happened since….” He went quiet for a moment after a long string of thoughts that burst from his mouth in any particular order. “Since I was trapped in the store room with all the food. But… But I didn’t eat any of it.” He managed to calm his words when he was focusing on something. None of that made any sense to him and it was clearly frustrating him.

[England - Arthur Kirkland]

Arthur noticed the flinch when he mentioned Alfred’s skin so casually. Nerves churned his own stomach for a brief moment because he supposed that he wouldn’t truly know the true extend of Alfred’s unique reaction to confinement at this point in time. He’d eventually come to the full knowledge of that in later years, of course. Whatever conclusion that Alfred came up with in his mind seemed to satisfy him enough not to question him further about how he knew. Arthur watched Alfred undress with a hint of hesitancy, both because it was Alfred undressing, at a time when he wasn’t that much younger physically than the Alfred he’d left behind on the sofa who was picking at his sweater and saying sweet things, and because he could see the extent of the horrible rash, how it seemed to stretch further down along his body.

Alfred’s voice took him away from his thoughts and he found himself already responding without pause, his voice that quiet quality whenever he was concentrating on something. ”It’s not a bother, I promise. Matthew didn’t tell me. I was… well, it was clear that you’ve been itching a lot more lately… Why would I be mad at you, love? I don’t like seeing you uncomfortable or in pain.” Of course Arthur’s next thought was wondering if he was truly that easily angered in Alfred’s past. God, he hoped not. He started first spreading the salve over Alfred’s neck, since that seemed to be the most dramatically infected area, probably from where the ruffles of his collar had been further irritating the sensitive skin. His fingers spread over Alfred’s skin slowly and carefully, not wanting to irritate it further. It might feel a little cool to the touch, soothing to the singed nerves. ”Perhaps you should forgo your shirt for a bit until this heals.”

Arthur wanted to do so much in that moment; he wanted to hold Alfred close and cherish this small moment that he got to relive, and perhaps even fix what had been broken in the past. Even if it didn’t make an actual difference, trying to understand and trying to heal something important to him was still well worth the effort. While he was spreading the salve, as his fingers steadily trailed lower along his collarbone and dipping down occasionally against his chest, he did allow himself to sit rather close in the process. ”Perhaps it was the feeling of being trapped… Sometimes we can react in ways like that to situations,” he murmured, remembering what Alfred in the present had told him.

The area still looked rather inflamed, but it was now glossy with the ointment as he continued to spread it along his agitated skin. Hopefully, it would cool the skin somewhat to get rid of that irritation and settle the reaction that his body was having. In the meantime; however, it should stop the worst of the prickling, hot feeling. Arthur leaned over to blow very lightly against the most reddened area of Alfred’s neck as he spread the ointment lower along his chest. ”How does that feel?” he asked, his tone soft. And only because he was already this close to him, he pressed his lips briefly against an unaffected area close to the edge of Alfred’s rash along the upper side of his neck.

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

Everything about this situation felt off. Alfred slowly began to calm even though thoughts were still firing off in his head. When Arthur was speaking calmly to him things were so much easier. That was something that hadn’t happened in a while. It seemed like every time Arthur was around now, he was in trouble. Granted, he may have deserved to be in trouble, but Arthur just didn’t understand him. He was being driven crazy. Right now, everything felt different. Arthur was calm and intentional with him. It was like he genuinely wanted to listen to him for once and that was just bizarre.

“Because you’re always mad at me.” He mumbled and almost regretted saying it out loud. He sat there waiting for a minute to be punished for saying that one. “I’ve always done something wrong.” He followed the statement with more bitterness. He normally only got to voice those kinds of things while he was already screaming. Right now, he didn’t feel like he had to scream. His fingers tensed a little bit on the bed after saying all of that. It’s not like it couldn’t devolve into screaming at any moment.

He nodded and tried to get off of that tangent when it came to his shirt. It was bothering his skin anyway. The salve felt better on his skin, but he didn’t have high hopes for it going away. Alfred blinked with Arthur’s input on what happened back then. Trapped? Could someone be allergic to being trapped? He didn’t even know how that process would work and it showed on his face. He looked lost in an explosion of his own thoughts. He wasn’t even trapped right now. When he was in the storage cellar he was actually physically trapped. The door had shut and locked and he couldn’t open it. It was one of the most frightening moments he’d ever experienced. The break out and the rash just didn’t make any sense. As thoughts rushed through his mind he fidgeted on the bed. Arthur’s last question seemed to completely escape his mind as he focused on the thought before it.

“I can leave whenever I want.”

The words left his mouth with conviction and a long pause. Alfred’s body language changed in that moment and he went from constantly moving to perfectly still. His eyes became distant and he seemed lost in that sentence alone. He couldn’t take it back, it was exactly the truth. He wasn’t trapped in a cellar with the door shut…..

Was he?

His eyes met back with Arthur's but he didn't say anything else. 

[England - Arthur Kirkland]

Arthur didn’t know what to say when Alfred mentioned that it seemed like he was always mad at him. Was he always angry at Alfred back then? He couldn’t say for sure, and that caused the unsettling feeling to deepen. His chest tightened in a painful way, hearing the bitterness in Alfred’s words when he said that he always felt like he’d done something wrong. Arthur knew that this was his fault; he’d created that bitterness inside Alfred, and he was simply a witness to the steady birth of it once more.

”I’m sorry…” he replied quietly, apologizing for a lot of things, not just being angry. Arthur smoothed his fingers over Alfred’s skin once more before pulling back his touch, rubbing the rest of the salve off on a hanky he’d had in his pocket. ”I know I haven’t said it in a long while… but I’m quite proud of you. I don’t want you to think that you’re always doing something wrong, because that’s not true. I mean, granted, we all make mistakes sometimes… but it will never outweigh all the good things that you are to me.” It was words that Arthur had wished that he’d said to Alfred, words that never would’ve reached him once he was gone, once Alfred had left him for good.

He saw the confusion on Alfred’s face as he processed his suggestion regarding his skin reaction. And as usual, he was quick to notice as soon as Alfred started to fidget again, a sign of just how much his nerves were present. And while his immediate reaction was to reach out and to sooth him, as he’d done all the years prior to this moment in time, he gave Alfred his space for now, an unease in the tightness over his muscles as he held back that near automatic response.

Arthur’s features tightened, the visible pain a reflection of the timeworn ache in his heart when he heard Alfred’s words and the insinuation behind them. He felt that he could better shoulder this pain now, after years of harboring it, carrying it with him like the burden it was through the several decades. It still didn’t make it any less easy to carry. His eyes watered, and his vision blurred, but he cleared his throat to respond.

”If you want to leave… I’ll let you leave whenever you want. I mean… of course I’d like you to stay… because you’re important to me. I want to fix this, instead of leaving it broken… but I understand if you want to leave.” It wasn’t easy to say, but Arthur had meant it this time. He'd learned in the many, many years that followed from this point that he couldn’t hold onto someone that he loved; he had to let them go. It was preferable than seeing them suffer like this in a proverbial cage. But it was still so bloody hard to say that to Alfred, no matter what time period. He couldn’t hold Alfred’s gaze when he looked at him, he gripped at his own knees and he was looking down at his hands. A drop of wetness trailing down the side of his nose and hitting his jeans. It wasn’t easy to relive a heartbreak, no matter how long ago it had happened.