'ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ' || ʜᴇᴛᴀʟɪᴀ

9

Arthur felt the fresh scabs on the side of his head and sighed quietly to himself. He couldn't believe he'd fallen and made himself look like a complete drunken fool in front of Alfred like that. He'd been a sobbing mess afterwards and honestly, he was still waiting for his dignity to return. He was starting to doubt that it would . . .

Alfred walked out into the garden, shorts and t-shirt donned due the still surprisingly hot weather, and a bright smile on his face. He took a seat opposite Arthur at the glass-topped wicker table.

"Germany says that everyone's improving," he said. "Maybe that's a good sign!"

"For everyone else, perhaps. I guess I'm just less lucky in life," Arthur said. He had been sneezing less, but it wasn't quite the same extreme improvement as others were seeing and he hated it. "There's a lot of evidence to support that theory, wouldn't you say?"

"Hey, look on the bright side!" Alfred beamed, trying to lift his spirits. "It means that I get to hang around for a bit longer to look after you!"

"That's the bright side?" Arthur responded with a bittersweet smile/ "I dread to think what the negatives are, in that case . . ."

"You love me really!" Alfred remarked.

Arthur didn't respond. He didn't want to make a fool of himself again. Unfortunately for him, fate wasn't feeling so merciless and kind, and he almost instantly felt a sneeze coming. His hand instinctively coming to cover his mouth and he held his breath, but he wasn't unable to stop it.

"Have I ever told you how cute you sound when you do that?" Alfred said, his left eyebrow slightly arched.

"Many times," Arthur answered, stifling a sigh, "but I really can't understand how sneezing can be cute, much less pleasant to the ear."

Alfred leant back in his seat. "Well, maybe you've never heard a cute sneeze before!"

"Remind me how we got onto this conversation again . . ."

"Look, I know you probably feel like shit right now, but you can't let it get you down."

Alfred suddenly leaned forward and grabbed Arthur's hand, the Brit trying not to instantaneously freak out or slap him away in his shock. He wasn't sure why Alfred was even holding his hand and looking at him with those deep, bright eyes that shimmered like the sunlight dancing on the ocean's waves-- No, no he couldn't think like that. Why was he getting distracted all of a sudden? He never usually felt so poetic like that around America . . . So what was happening?

"I've kinda made it my duty to stick around here until I'm sure you are one-hundred percent back to normal," Alfred continued, clearly not having noticed how pinky-red Arthur's face had gone. "I don't care what you or others think. I just . . . I don't want anything bad to happen to you, dude."

"Wow . . ." Arthur responded. "I almost would have called that endearing if it weren't for the 'dude' you tagged onto the end."

"Endearing?"

"You know, like . . . Uh . . ."

Arthur blanked out for a moment. He couldn't believe what he was saying, he was half tempted to slap himself and leap from a second-storey window.

"Never mind,"he said. "It's nothing important."

"Well, anyway," Alfred proceeded after a quick pause. "We need to work out a way to make you stop sneezing asap."

"What if it's unrelated to everyone else, Alfred?" England replied. "Maybe I just genuinely have a cold or hayfever, or some nonsense--"

"Nope! No way! It's too hot for you to have a cold and you, above everyone else, are incredibly unlikely to get hayfever," Alfred said with a firm head shake. "You're just a special case, but no worries, because Doctor Alfred is going to help you get better!" he smiled.

"Is that so?"

"Yep!"

"Want to know how you can help me right now?"

"Of course!" Alfred chirped.

"Let go of my hand and make me a cup of tea," Arthur said with a small, dignified smile.

"Your wish is my command!" he beamed, and almost instantaneously he'd left the table and had disappeared inside.

Arthur looked at the hand that had been released and traced the lines of his palm gently. It felt so empty all of a sudden, like there was something missing. It no longer felt right to him, and he couldn't work out what it was that was suddenly gone in a flash that made him feel so . . .

'No . . . Not this . . . No, I refuse to accept this!' he screamed at himself, 'This isn't right! I-I can't just . . . Can I?'

He abruptly rose from his seat, his vision going blurred for a millisecond, and he decided to go for quick walk away from the house. Away from the thing that made his mind go all fuzzy and confused and Victorian in his prose. God, he hated that so much. Why was he suddenly feeling so awkward and acting so weirdly? It wasn't normal, and it certainly was not acceptable!

He walked past the rose bushes, the lilies and the apple trees, and came to stand near a small but charming feature in the grand garden. A fountain, surrounded by a mix of flowers and small shrubs that brightened up the area so much. It was Arthur's second favourite space, closely behind the rose gardens. It was always so quiet and peaceful. He felt at peace.

That was, until he heard he heard a certain American calling for him like a lost child. Arthur sighed and made his way back towards the house, losing another two sneezes en route, stifling an agitated groan. As he came back out into the open, the house in view, he couldn't see Alfred anywhere. He frowned. A cup rested on the outdoor table that had not been there before, so he had to be outside somewhere, right? Rolling his eyes, he went to call out to the lost American, but before he could, he felt two arms wrap around him from behind and hold him close.

"Man, I thought you'd vanished!" Alfred remarked, tire in his voice alongside worry that made Arthur feel a bit guilty. "I was scared I'd find you half-dead in a flowerbed somewhere!"

Arthur sighed. "Well, I'm still alive, so you can let go now."

"Nope."

"What do you mean, no?" Arthur replied. "I said I'm fine so you can release your death-grip and let me drink that charming warm tea that is calling my name lovingly from afar."

"I think we both know that you don't just want the tea . . ." Alfred suddenly said.

Arthur paused, confused. If he didn't want tea, what else was there for him to possibly satisfy his needs? He honestly couldn't understand Alfred and his stupid American accent sometimes, and wished that he spoke less in riddles and just like a normal person, rather than the ridiculously silly . . . charming . . . kind, and helpful . . . lovable moron he was . . .

The silence didn't throw Alfred off at all. He sort of understood, but just in case Arthur was completely blind and oblivious to what he was trying to say, he hesitantly left a kiss on his temple, hoping that he wouldn't get a fist to the face or anything.

"What the hell?"

Alfred hummed. "What?"

"You bastard!" Arthur scorned. He broke away from Alfred and turned to look at him properly. "Why did you do that?!"

"Because, I care . . ."

"Oh my god," Arthur sighed to himself. 'This is actually happening. What do I do?! SHIT SHIT SHIT--"

Arthur didn't have a chance to respond formally in anyway. He was interrupted by warm, soft lips on his and a cosy feeling inside him that sent a calm surge of heat and longing spreading through his entire being. He didn't hate it at all. He loved it, and he wished he could just say that to Alfred instead of being so awkward, but he knew that was impossible for someone like him.

He pushed hard against Alfred and separated them, before staring at him for a moment as he caught his breath and then running without a word back into the house and upstairs to his room, where he locked the door firmly behind him.

"What have I done . . . ?" Alfred asked himself as he stood outside in the fading sun, the first droplets of rain falling from the sky.