Falling for Crime

Chapter 6

When oblivion is calling out your name,
You always take it further
than I ever can.

Arthur didn't realize he had woken up late until his eyes fluttered open to the first crack of dawn.

Not giving his body time to adjust, he had flown out of bed to get ready. Additionally, he had almost forgotten his pre-made lunch that he was going to give to Alfred at the prison. Good thing he hadn't forgotten; he was oddly excited about his prisoner trying something homemade of his.

Why was he so excited to see the damn American, and why was he breaking the rules so willingly?

Trees and bushes flew past as Arthur drove, it was barely light outside. The prison was only about twenty minutes away, but he knew he would catch flak from The General for not being on time. How had he missed his alarm? His head was pounding and every movement of his eyes stung like needles. He was usually up on time and never missed his alarm.

Oh wait. Now he remembered.

Pouring another glass of wine, the Englishman groaned slightly to himself.

It was around 2 a.m., long past when Arthur should've gone to bed. He had work the next morning, but he didn't care.

There was something horribly wrong. Arthur couldn't rid his thoughts of Alfred. The entire drive home he couldn't think of anything or anyone else but the prisoner, and thinking about the way he laughed, smiled, hell even said Kirkland's name, gave him a weird fluttering sensation in his chest. But why? Why would he feel this way for a prisoner? He loved him like a friend, a brother, so why did it feel like something more..? Surely it wasn't.

Alfred wasn't exactly a bad guy, Arthur reminded himself. He's just a little stupid.

Arthur found that the glass he had just poured was gone. What happened? Didn't he just pour it? He inspected the mostly empty wine glass in a haze, noting the slight dizziness taking over his system. He had started drinking to understand what was going on with his thoughts of Alfred, but they just ended up more hazy and incomprehensible than they already were.

"Icarus is flying towards an early grave," Arthur sang in a slur to himself as his phone blared Bastille. He struggled more now to pour himself a fifth glass of wine, giving up and pouring only halfway through and setting the bottle aside.

"Blast it all," He slurred to himself, "Why can't I stop thinking about that damn stupid American.."

Sip. "I don't understand it-" Sip. "-His stupid smiling face and the stupid hope and happiness in his eyes-" Sip. "-with how willing he is to be around me and take orders and talk to me, ugh."

Arthur put down his now empty wine glass, eyes completely glossed over with alcoholism. "How and why does he make m'damn insides turn. Bollocks. He's just a friend."

Immediately after he said that aloud, he shook his head. "Not even a friend! He's a prisoner I'm supposed to be watching!"

The British man stood, but not all too well. He held onto the side of the table, huffing hard. "The bastard has me under a spell, I swear," He breathed, face red. "Or something. Wait, I'm talking to myself. Have I really hit rock bottom?!"

He grabbed his phone - after two failed attempts - and held the wall as he struggled to his room, holding down the urge to throw up as he did. "There's something bloody wrong with him if he thinks-" A successful attempt at holding down wine, "-that I'll let him have his way with me. Idiot." As soon as his bed was in front of him, he took no hesitation in flopping into it.