Alfred heart sank to his stomach when tinny strains of Freddie Mercury floated from the other side of the room. “Ooh you make me live, whatever this world can give to me. It's you you're all I see. Ooh you make me live now honey, ooh you make me live. Ooh you're the best friend that I ever had…” Alfred sighed, perturbed, as he crossed the room to Arthur’s charger. “I've been with you such a long time, you're my sunshine and I want you to know that my feelings are true, I really love you. Oh you're my best friend…” Alfred found the phone and answered it with a push, ending the call just as quickly. Would Arthur mind if he looked through his calendar? Probably not. It would make him feel better anyways. With a few taps, Alfred found there was nothing.
“Arthur, really, if you’re hiding or something…” Alfred grumbled. It wouldn’t be the first time. But then again, there were a lot of ‘it wouldn’t be the first time’s today that were adding up to something strange. He crossed to his suitcase, pulling on a tank top over his oddly lanky frame, following with a button up shirt. This was his Arthur shirt, he could never resist the tailoring… a thought to this regard made Alfred huff in annoyance. Of course it wouldn’t fit properly, because his muscle mass had decreased like the mortality rate for infections after penicillin. Hopefully Arthur would feel sorry for him and wouldn’t laugh at him.
Alfred looked to their usual spot for the shoes, and suddenly, after everything strange this morning, his blood ran cold as he saw the shoes in disarray, never points out like they normally were. Arthur obstinately made sure, always, even if they had sex that night, to arrange the shoes like that, in the excuse that he liked to find them in the morning. Now, now they scattered around the room. Alfred quickly gathered them up and clutched them to his chest. One by the dresser, his left shoe, one by the bathroom door, Arthur’s right, one by the TV, Alfred’s right…
Alfred was on his hands and knees, reaching under the bed for Arthur’s left when suddenly last night came to him, and he sat up with a bonk to the head against the bottom of the bed. Pulling himself and the shoe out from under the bed, hugging it to him, Alfred blinked like a startled deer as he remembered Crowe and Gewinds and snarling nightmare-fresh Arthur. Alfred cradled his head in his right palm as he processed everything.
After much internal debate, Alfred eventually concluded that yes, last night had been real, and Arthur was gone. Another thing that was clear was the Alfred needed to get him back. That’s what boyfriends did, after all, and especially them. Arthur had been apparently protecting him for years, so now it was Alfred’s turn. He still wasn’t sure where that Tungolbyre name had come from, but that didn’t concern him that much. One thing he was good at was going impossible places. And wherever Arthur was was definitely an impossible place.
Alfred stood up to put on his pants, the first step to any expedition was to put on pants. And right now, the second step was to make sure someone would cover for them if things ran a little long on this grand adventure of theirs. Next was to go see Connall, to see if there was any better way to do this. And perhaps to give him the warning that he was now the last Kirkland in this world.
He found some slightly wrinkled ones and pulled them on. Alfred looked down at himself. Well, he definitely needed a belt. “Fuck!” He swore, cursing Crowe, as his usual black leather, tightened to the smallest notch, hung off his body, slightly smaller than his slacks. His belt was too loose. Why did he have to buy his belts as loose possible? Right, because he liked to eat. He wasn’t normally fat, was he? No, just muscled, which was weight. Absolutely, he reassured himself. With much swallowing of pride, he pulled a belt out of Arthur’s dresser. Right. Not bad, not bad at all. Briefly he considered wearing one of Arthur’s slacks instead as well… no, no that was too much, and besides, he’d kept his height, he was just much, much slighter.
Crowe 2b/?
“Arthur, really, if you’re hiding or something…” Alfred grumbled. It wouldn’t be the first time. But then again, there were a lot of ‘it wouldn’t be the first time’s today that were adding up to something strange. He crossed to his suitcase, pulling on a tank top over his oddly lanky frame, following with a button up shirt. This was his Arthur shirt, he could never resist the tailoring… a thought to this regard made Alfred huff in annoyance. Of course it wouldn’t fit properly, because his muscle mass had decreased like the mortality rate for infections after penicillin. Hopefully Arthur would feel sorry for him and wouldn’t laugh at him.
Alfred looked to their usual spot for the shoes, and suddenly, after everything strange this morning, his blood ran cold as he saw the shoes in disarray, never points out like they normally were. Arthur obstinately made sure, always, even if they had sex that night, to arrange the shoes like that, in the excuse that he liked to find them in the morning. Now, now they scattered around the room. Alfred quickly gathered them up and clutched them to his chest. One by the dresser, his left shoe, one by the bathroom door, Arthur’s right, one by the TV, Alfred’s right…
Alfred was on his hands and knees, reaching under the bed for Arthur’s left when suddenly last night came to him, and he sat up with a bonk to the head against the bottom of the bed. Pulling himself and the shoe out from under the bed, hugging it to him, Alfred blinked like a startled deer as he remembered Crowe and Gewinds and snarling nightmare-fresh Arthur. Alfred cradled his head in his right palm as he processed everything.
After much internal debate, Alfred eventually concluded that yes, last night had been real, and Arthur was gone. Another thing that was clear was the Alfred needed to get him back. That’s what boyfriends did, after all, and especially them. Arthur had been apparently protecting him for years, so now it was Alfred’s turn. He still wasn’t sure where that Tungolbyre name had come from, but that didn’t concern him that much. One thing he was good at was going impossible places. And wherever Arthur was was definitely an impossible place.
Alfred stood up to put on his pants, the first step to any expedition was to put on pants. And right now, the second step was to make sure someone would cover for them if things ran a little long on this grand adventure of theirs. Next was to go see Connall, to see if there was any better way to do this. And perhaps to give him the warning that he was now the last Kirkland in this world.
He found some slightly wrinkled ones and pulled them on. Alfred looked down at himself. Well, he definitely needed a belt. “Fuck!” He swore, cursing Crowe, as his usual black leather, tightened to the smallest notch, hung off his body, slightly smaller than his slacks. His belt was too loose. Why did he have to buy his belts as loose possible? Right, because he liked to eat. He wasn’t normally fat, was he? No, just muscled, which was weight. Absolutely, he reassured himself. With much swallowing of pride, he pulled a belt out of Arthur’s dresser. Right. Not bad, not bad at all. Briefly he considered wearing one of Arthur’s slacks instead as well… no, no that was too much, and besides, he’d kept his height, he was just much, much slighter.