He's a Keeper - Chapter One: Between

[zo_one]

The day whittled away at an excruciatingly slow pace for Arthur. Numbers and notes jumbled into illegible blurs before his eyes as he attempted to concentrate on work. He grumbled venomously to himself for a few minutes before simply deciding that he wasn't going to get anything done now and gathered up his things, leaving only four hours after arriving.

As he walked down the streets, he found himself constantly looking up at the sky for even the slightest hints of rain, despite the fact that the day was bright with only the slightest chill. But it was his mood that almost called out for it to rain, so he could hide away under his umbrella and sprint back to his flat without looking like an utter loon. He wanted Alfred to be awake right now and in the proper state of mind to hold a decent conversation. Unfortunately it was only five in the morning there, and Alfred had the habit of sleeping in on weekends (not to mention the American was drugged up on pain killers).

Arthur made his way into the nearest café, ordering the daily lunch special and taking a seat in the corner of the shop. He fiddled with his phone between anxious and jittery fingers as he sat, waiting for a meal he probably wouldn’t taste anyway. There had to be something wrong with him.

[Arthur]

Alfred, when you’re feeling better, please text me.

[Message sent 12:34 AM]

He frowned as the message sent. It had sounded rather impersonal. Maybe he should have tacked on an “I’m worried about you”, or something along those lines. Arthur shook his head. No, there was no need, this was Alfred. Alfred wouldn’t care – he would read between the lines, or just make up a meaning for his own benefit. And it was that thought that set him at ease as his food and steaming cup of blueberry tea were set before him.

----- In the Midwest -----

Alfred groaned as he rolled over in bed, his blankets tangling around his legs as he wiggled to try and get comfortable. The sun streamed in merrily through his window at just the perfect angle to get in his eyes. “Mrrgh,” he moaned to himself, tossing an arm over his face like usual to block out the sunlight for at least another five minutes. What he had forgotten was the thick, blue and red cast on his arm, and he cried out in shock when he accidently decked himself in the face with it.

“Ow, shit, ow,” he whined, sitting up and clutching his nose with his left hand. Quickly he wiped his face and checked his hand. Good, no blood. He would’ve been mortified if the first thing he did with his cast was give himself a bloody nose. With sleepy eyes he scooped up his glasses and his phone from the floor next to his bed.

As he settled his glasses on his face, he quickly checked his phone, seeing that he missed three messages in the middle of the night – which was odd. Who the heck texted people at four in the morning? He yawned and opened the first message.

[Father Feliciano]

Alfred! My brother told me what happened! I hope you’re feeling better! We’ll pray for your quick recovery!

[Message received 3:45 AM]

What? His pastor already knew he’d broken his arm? Alfred rubbed at his cast in thought. Ah, that was right; the doctor – the only one for miles and miles – was Dr. Vargas, Father Feliciano’s brother. And damn, if everyone didn’t know by now, they were definitely going to know by Sunday. Sometimes he hated living in a small town – well, technically it was a village, but admitting you lived in a village was like saying you grew up in a closet. Everyone knew everyone or was related to everyone, and your business was their business.

He didn’t remember giving Feliciano his cell phone number…

[Me]

Thank you Father. It’s much appreciated.

[Message sent 1:08 PM]

[Señor C.]

Lovi told me what happened! How awful! I’ll find someone to take notes for you~! <3 Toni

[Message received 4:45 AM]

[Me]

Thanks Mr. C… See you in class on Monday.

[Message sent 1:09 PM]

Great, even his teacher knew what happened. Dr. Vargas sure was a loudmouth. He should’ve convinced Matt to drive an extra hour to a different hospital. Not that Matt would’ve agreed. He would’ve just spouted something about how he needed immediate and proper treatment and then would’ve gone on a tangent about something he learned in class back when he was in Canada or about Canadian healthcare. Because everything Matt ever talked about came back to Canada one way or another.

[King Arthur]

Alfred, when you’re feeling better, please text me.

[Message received 5:34 AM]

Alfred paused in slight shock after reading the simple message. Arthur never, ever texted him during the night, usually for fear of being impolite and waking him up. Was he sick? Was it an emergency? Was he worried? Alfred squinted at the message in suspicion. Maybe Arthur was testing him – it was possible, he knew Arthur to occasionally get a wild hair up his ass and do things completely out of the ordinary for the sake of his own amusement. But this really didn’t seem like the time for that…

Curious, Alfred set his phone aside and began getting dressed. Maybe Arthur sent him a response email – although he couldn’t exactly remember what he said in his own email. He had sent one, right?

Hiding a yawn behind his hand, he shuffled out of his room and towards the kitchen on his way to the basement computer. “Oh, Alfred, you’re awake,” Matthew greeted, calmly placing himself between Alfred and the basement door. A bowl of half mixed pancake batter sat unattended on the kitchen counter. “How’re you feeling?”

“Uh, I’m okay? Just a bit tired.” He frowned and scratched at his cast – it was starting to get old; fast. “Uhm, what’s up?” he decided to ask cautiously. Matthew was starting to act strange lately, and if he knew his cousin, he knew that Matthew liked to bottle everything up until it just exploded. It was a trait they shared.

His older cousin just shrugged, his face taking on a stern look, although he still had a gentle air about him. “When was the last time you talked to your dad?” he demanded out of the blue.

Alfred winced at the question. “Ah… to Pa? Uhm… I don’t know? I think on Wednesday. Why?”

“Don’t you think that’s a little too long to ignore him?” Matthew’s arms folded across his chest and Alfred didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry at the situation. “He’s a person, too, Alfred. You can’t just treat him like a dog that pissed on the floor one too many times!”

“Shut up!” Alfred roared, his hands digging into his sandy blond hair in frustration. “Shut the fuck up, Matt! You don’t know anything! He’s just your goddamn experiment! What the fuck do you care!” Matthew’s eyes narrowed behind his rounded glasses. Before the older blond could say anything, Alfred turned around, intent on stomping back in his room, or outside, or anywhere but there.

As soon as he spun around, however, he froze. He felt as if his blood suddenly began to flow in reverse and he bit his lip. His Pa stood, leaning against the archway back towards Alfred’s room. His shaggy blond hair was ruffled and tangled; a prominent five o’ clock shadow stuck stubbornly to his strong chin. His blue eyes were bloodshot and tired as he looked in on the argument with an impassive stare.

“Din mean ta int’rupt,” the man grumbled out, running a hand through his hair slowly.

Alfred turned back around to Matthew, who was frowning heavily. “You didn’t interrupt anything,” Alfred hissed, grabbing a handful of Matthew’s shirt and forcibly removing him from the basement doorway. Quickly he slipped in the door before Matthew could regain his balance and slammed it shut. Scowling he stomped as loudly and obnoxiously as he could down the stairs. When he booted up the computer, he could vaguely hear Matthew trying to pacify his Pa with excuses of, “He’s just tired – the pain medicine is probably affecting his mood. No… it’s not your fault…” And honestly, it shouldn't have pissed him off as much as it did.

From: Arthur Kirkland (Mystic_Grimoire@yahoo.co.uk);

Alfred, my dear, silly git. I thought you were half dead based on the lack of report from either you or Matthew. I suppose you’re lucky you don’t have school for the next couple of days. Enjoy your weekend.

Well, that certainly wasn’t what he had expected, he thought to himself as he scrolled through his inbox. He only allowed himself to relax once the footsteps upstairs receded, and Alfred returned his focus back onto the short email. This wasn’t like Arthur – well, it was, but normally Arthur had a way with words, and this seemed to be lacking his normal flair. For a moment he wondered if Arthur was okay. Maybe something stressful was going on at work? He tapped the keyboard in thought before deciding to just reply and let his English friend know that no, he wasn’t dead.

To: Arthur Kirkland (Mystic_Grimoire@yahoo.co.uk);

Hey Arthur! I’m not at my phone right now, so when you get this, email me back. I’m doing great! I’m just tired and not used to this cast. I hit myself in the face when I woke up this morning… afternoon. The next six weeks are going to suck. Half the town already knows I broke it, and I haven’t even left the house. It’s kinda annoying, but I guess they’d all find out anyway.

I CAN’T wait to turn eighteen! Then I’ll officially be a legal adult! And then I can drink in your country!

Hey, I just had an idea. I think for my birthday, I’m going to buy myself a trip to England. I have six months to save up… I’ll stop buying video games! I don’t know… It’s weird. I want to meet you, Arthur! We’ve been pals for going on eleven years now, so I guess it’s only fair that I’d want to meet you in person!

Whaddya say? If I just showed up in England one day, would you meet me there?

Alfred

 He sat back with a small smile as he sent the message. The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded. He could go to England. He could meet his best friend (for the first time ever), and he could get away from the ranch and from Matthew and his Pa… He opened up the Google search engine and typed in ‘Airfare from USA to England’ and winced. Well, this was going to a challenge.

------ Across the Atlantic ------

Arthur sat on his bed, his laptop across his thighs as he lounged against his pillows. He had thought of an interesting plot for a story and thought that maybe he could try his hand at writing tonight. It was always like that. He’d think of something simply amazing, so rounded and dynamic in his head, but as soon he attempted to convert it to paper, he lost it, the beautiful worlds and plots and one-liners slipping through his fingers like sand.

He wanted to be a writer, maybe. Arthur paused. No, he just wanted to write. Whether or not he received recognition, he cared little. But as he opened his new email from Alfred, he was too busy trying not to choke on his own spit in surprise to worry about his lack of talent or inspiration.

“He wants to what?” he asked himself incredulously, rereading the email two more times to convince his eyes that that was really what he had read. “Here? He wants to come here?” Arthur frowned at the sound of his own voice. He was going to have to get a cat so he could at least pretend he wasn’t talking to himself. Determined to deter Alfred from his neurotic notion, he clicked the reply button hastily.

To: Alfred F. Jones (all.american.guy@cox.net);

Alfred, don’t be silly. A round trip flight to England isn’t something to be bought lightly, nor is it something you can do on a whim. Why don’t you sleep on it for a week or so before deciding something like that?

By the by, I’ve been thinking of getting a cat to keep me company in my flat. They’re allowed, but I believe I’d have to pay a fee. What do you suggest? Which reminds me, my neighbour stopped by earlier and gave me a delicious cream pie. He said he’d made too many (for what occasion I haven’t a clue) and simply asked that I return the pan when I am finished. I must say, I prefer my own cooking – especially when it comes to sweets, but he’s not horrible either.

I think my luck has been turning up.

Arthur

For the next hour he emailed Alfred back and forth, and if the American noticed or minded the subject change, he didn’t say anything – for which Arthur was grateful. He didn’t want to have to explain why it would be so… uncomfortable, for Alfred to just show up in England one day. What would he say? What would they do? Would Alfred even like him? There were too many unknowns, and Arthur wasn’t one to often deviate from the norm.

Besides, everything was perfect the way it was.

------

It wasn't but two weeks later when Arthur’s whole view on life was altered. Perhaps he was being (very) over dramatic, but he couldn’t help but stare at the email on his screen in mute horror – or at least, he supposed it was horror, this odd feeling that managed to writhe its way into his chest and force him to take dumbfounded, uneven breaths.

From: Alfred F. Jones (all.american.guy@cox.net);

Yo Arthur! It’s been a great day! Remember how I said Señor C. found someone to take notes for me? Turns out she’s really cute! Her name is Angaleek or something… w/e I call her Angie, she doesn’t mind! But today I, being as awesome as I am, asked her out and………………… (This is dramatic effect, Arthur)!

She said YES!

Here look, I sent an attachment. That’s a pic of us by the school. Ain’t she cute? :P

Btw, I’ve been butterin’ up Pa about going to England for my birthday (what, did u think I forgot? NOPE!). He’s getting tired of me askin’, but he said if I can save up for it, then he’s got no right to tell me I can’t coz I’ll be an adult and can make my own decisions. If I can pull some extra cash in from ranch work and helpin round the town – and if Stanley (remember that baby cow I told ya I was raising?) wins that contest ($500 cash prize!), I’ll definitely be able to pull it off! So whaddya say Arthur! I’m all aboard for this thing, how about you?!

Alfred

Arthur sat back in his bed, unable to think of an appropriate response. Something inside him wanted to open a new message and type a forty seven page reply that said, nonononononononononononononononono oh HELL NO! And where that urge came from, he didn’t know. Instead he glanced out the window, noting that it was already dark on Saturday night. He didn’t have to work tomorrow…

Slowly, and against his better judgment, he opened the attachment Alfred had sent.

He could recognize Alfred immediately from many of the pictures they’d sent each other back and forth. Although it had been awhile since they’d sent each other anything. The blond American was giving his normal, cheesy grin, his hair still the same ruffled blond with a cowlick that Alfred swore he couldn't get rid of. Arthur took his time reacquainting himself with Alfred’s image. Sometimes it was hard to remember a person’s face or smile after only seeing them through paper and email for so long.

But his entire sense of nostalgia turned cold and dropped unpleasantly into the pit of his stomach when he finally glanced at the young girl that hung herself off Alfred’s arm. Like some trophy wife, he thought bitterly. Arthur shook his head. It’s not like he cared – he had nothing to be upset over. The brunette girl in the photo now seemed to be leering up at him through the screen of his laptop and he closed out of the picture hastily.

He needed to do something to take his mind off this – off Alfred and his stupidity. Quickly he opened a reply message, but his fingers merely hovered over his computer keys. There wasn’t anything he wanted to say, at least nothing positive. And this was Alfred he was talking to… He couldn’t just… just…

To: Alfred F. Jones (all.american.guy@cox.net);

She’s fucking adorable.

As he sent the message, he felt like he had swallowed a mouthful of sticky tar. Arthur shut his laptop with shaking hands. Was he angry? Scared? Nervous? He couldn’t tell.

There was something wrong with him, he deduced after pacing the length of his room several times; something inexplicitly wrong. He shouldn’t care about Alfred’s personal life, he didn’t care about it. Alfred was free to do with his life as he pleased.

Arthur groaned, reaching up and pulling on his messy blond hair in distress. “Fuck!” he cursed for no reason other than the hope that it would make him feel marginally better. It did not. Huffing, he pulled his phone from his pocket and began thumbing through his contacts.

[Arthur]

Frog, you had best keep your promises.

[Message sent 8:09 PM]

[Frog]

Of course mon ami! I’ll pick you up in an hour.

[Message received 8:10 PM]

As promised, Francis knocked on the door to his flat at exactly nine pm sharp. Arthur pulled on his coat and left his umbrella on the coat rack. If he brought it with him, he’d probably forget it at the pub. “Ah, good evening, Arthur,” Francis greeted with his usual coy smile. “You look as disheveled as usual.”

“Oh do shut up,” Arthur growled as they made their way to the lift and out of the flats. “I’m not doing this because I enjoy your company.”

Francis only sighed, a small white cloud forming from his breath in the cool late January weather. It somehow made the action more dramatic than it needed to be. “Yes, yes, I know the routine.”

They walked down the darkened streets together in a gruff silence. Neither had much to say, but their minds were heavily absorbed in their own thoughts. Arthur watched the tops of his feet as they went. He wanted to drink for the sake of drinking, not to rid himself of problems he didn’t have. He was out to have a good time after a rather stressful week at work and… and who was he kidding? He was going to get utterly pissed so he could forget everything if just for a night. And right now, he didn’t care how utterly stupid the notion was.

As they approached the pub entrance, Arthur paused, pulling Francis to a halt as well. At the Frenchman’s curious glance, Arthur dug into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. “Hold onto this for me, will you? Make sure I don’t do anything stupid.”

Francis took the device and tucked it into the breast pocket of his coat with a small amount of trepidation. “Stupid like… what?”

“Like bloody texting or calling people in a drunken stupor, that’s what!” Arthur growled and walked into the pub, taking a seat up at the bar and ordering a scotch before he could even take his overcoat off.

“Interesting,” Francis murmured to himself before taking a seat next to Arthur. He asked the bartender for wine or champagne (assuming a dingy place like this had any), and received a scoff from Arthur. “What? It wasn’t my intention to drown in ale tonight,” he said easily, accepting a glass of red wine – a clean glass too, he noted with a pleased nod. “You may wish to do so, but someone must drag you home tonight.”

Arthur only grunted in response, already nursing half a glass of scotch. “Don’t fucking care anymore,” he mumbled into his drink.

In the amount of time it took Francis to easily sip away his single glass of wine, Arthur had downed three glasses of scotch and was now asking for strange sounding tonics that Francis had been sure the Englishman was making up – until the bartender would nod and shuffle off to grab bottles and mixers. “Haven’t you had enough for tonight?” Francis dared ask as the bartender set down a long glass of orange liquid.

“No,” Arthur answered slowly. He made a sound that was a mix between a hiccup and a yawn. “I can still… still remember. Bloody hell, Francis! I remember it!”

The Frenchman nodded solemnly, pretending to understand Arthur’s woes and patting the other man on the back. Arthur really wasn’t one to hold his liquor well, and yet he drank like a whale in a desert. “What exactly, are you trying so hard to forget, mon ami?”

Arthur paused, taking a long drink before looking at Francis with glassy green eyes. “Alfred got himself a little bird,” he said lowly, as if he were a kid telling a secret on the playground. “And… and… I don’t know! I hate it, Francis!” He took another drink and hupped. “I don’t even… know… I want to find her – and… and I want to punch her or something.”

At that bit of information, Francis grinned knowingly. “Ah, Arthur! Jealousy does not suit you,” he chided.

“M’not jealous,” Arthur blustered. He tapped himself repeatedly on the chest as he spoke, as if the action would make everything he said absolutely and undeniably true. “I’m just… angry that’d he go and… and do that without – without asking me first!”

“You’re jealous.”

“Not!”

“Yes, you are.”

“No! ‘Nother scotch!” Arthur swiveled haphazardly in his seat, trying to cut off the conversation by putting his back to Francis as he took a grimacing drink from his new scotch.

Francis frowned at the display, watching as Arthur hunched over the bar counter in an attempt to make himself smaller. “This simply cannot go on,” he said to himself, stroking the fine stubble on his chin in thought. There had to be a way… Suddenly he remembered Arthur’s phone in the pocket of his coat and removed it, an idea forming as he began thumbing through options and contacts.

“Arthur, say hello to the camera,” he said with a lecherous grin. L’amour was worth the potential bodily harm his English friend may inflict later on. Assuming he found out, of course.

------ In the Midwest ------

Alfred hummed to himself as he cleaned Nova’s tack. It was a long time due, and the sweat, dirt, and gunk from the past few weeks had certainly built up. He watched Nova trot around the small indoor corral as she worked out her legs after being cooped up in her stable stall for so long. Sometimes he wanted to put her out in the pastures with the cattle and her son Boss, if only he knew she wouldn’t nip and terrorize them. He laughed. “I swear, Nova,” he called out to the horse from his spot on top the barred fence, saddle in his lap as he brushed away grime. “You and Boss are more like mules than horses.”

As if she understood the jab, Nova snorted at the ground and picked up her pace as she traveled around the corral in circles. Alfred smiled and began humming once more, pulling a beaten toothbrush from his back pocket to work on the nooks and crannies of the saddle.

His phone began to chime merrily with Don’t Stop Me Now, and he suppressed a grin at the thought of receiving a text message from Arthur. He tucked the toothbrush in the dip of the saddle horn and struggled to pull his phone from his pocket. Nova snorted at him as she passed and he chuckled.

[New Picture Message from King Arthur! 3:20 PM]

Well that’s rather new. He thumbed through the options and accepted the message, going back to scrubbing while he waited for the photo message to upload. Damn, sometimes he wished he had 4G connection or something. At least his service was somewhat reliable out here – although most cell phone companies didn’t even cover his area.

Alfred gave a relieved sigh when the message finally finished loading and eagerly hit the ‘view’ button. He was rather startled to see a somewhat blurry picture of Arthur (he would recognize that mop of hair anywhere) slouched against a bar, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, and looking downright miserable. “What the…?” For some reason he felt rather upset at this turn of events. Instead of questioning it, he went on to read the rather long message that was attached to the sad photo.

Alfred, this is Francis Bonnefoy, I am a good friend of Arthur’s. We are at this filthy pub tonight because he’s attempting to drink himself into a hospital visit. Although I don’t know his exact reasons, he has been muttering and crying about how Alfred doesn’t trust him and how he wants to harm a young woman by the name of Angie (which is not very gentlemanly of him). Since you are the only Alfred in his contacts I decided to let you know what you have done to my good friend. I do suggest you speak with him as soon as you may. I do not wish to see him like this again.

Francis Bonnefoy

For a long moment, Alfred simply marveled at how this Francis (why had he never heard of him before?) managed to send him a three page text before he realized it was actually part of the photo. But wait; was Arthur mad at him for not telling him about Angie sooner? Because he told Arthur before he told anyone else – even Matthew! And yet, even so, he felt some sort of guilt well up inside of him. That lonely picture was his fault?

Nova had finished her laps and now stood at Alfred’s side, snuffing at the leg of his pants in boredom. Alfred sighed, transferring his phone to his right hand, awkwardly clasping the device around his cast, and scratched the mare behind her ears. “What do you think I should do, girl? I mean, it’s not really my fault he’s drinking himself stupid, right?” He paused. “Should I shoot him a text?”

Seeming to understand his question, Nova tossed her head as if to nod and Alfred grinned tiredly at her. “I see how it is, you mule,” he teased her gently, stroking her between the eyes, along that little splotch of white that seriously looked like an eagle. “You haven’t even met Arthur, but you love him anyway, huh? I wonder what you’d do when you did see him. I bet the first thing you’d do is ask for scratches, and then check his pockets for treats.” Alfred grinned to himself as he thumbed through his contacts on his phone awkwardly as he continued to pet Nova with the other hand.

[Me]

Hey Arthur, when ur all sobered up text me. Sounds like we need a good chat. I dnt care if its in the middle of the nite, ok?

[Message sent 3:55 PM]

Alfred finished up his task at hand, clearing the tack of grime and oiling it up before setting it on a dummy for the time being. He pulled Nova’s lead rope from the corral’s gate post and gave the Thoroughbred a calculating stare. “Alright, Nova, you got two choices. We can do this the hard way or the easy way – and I hope ya pick the easy way today, ‘coz I’m too tired for the hard way.” He knew if Matthew was here with him, his cousin would probably be asking why he was talking to Nova like she was some kind of criminal. But Alfred knew her tricks and today he really didn’t feel like chasing her around.

He entered the corral with Nova and slowly approached her as she snuffled at the ground, clearly amused to Alfred. Just as he was within arm’s reach of her, Alfred’s phone began to chime, “I’m traveling at the speed of light. I wanna make a supersonic man out of you!”

Slightly annoyed, Alfred paused in his advanced, huffing angrily when Nova skittered away, her ears pinning down in annoyance at the song. “Dammit,” he cursed, stalking to the edge of the corral and leaning against the barred fence to pull his cell phone from his pocket.

[King Arthur]

lets hava chat lad! come ober to my place. ill make scones!

[Message received 4:44 PM]

“What the fuck…?” Obviously Arthur was drunk, probably even smashed if he thought Alfred could just waltz on over to his place. He checked the time and added seven hours, almost midnight, just as he thought. Drunk and tired. What an interesting combination. Alfred’s irritation soon melted into amusement and he wondered what else he could get out of Arthur for future blackmail.

[Me]

I can’t just drive across the Atlantic you know! Why are you so drunk?

[Message sent 4:47 PM]

[King Arthur]

then swim. not drunk either… also i hat u right now.

[Message received 5:03 PM]

[Me]

I’d drown b4 I even got there. And what do you mean you hate me! That’s harsh Art. I think I might cry.

[Message sent 5:09 PM]

For a long time Alfred received no reply from his English friend, and he wondered if maybe Arthur had finally passed out or something. He sincerely hoped Arthur had at least made it home before face planting somewhere. But then his phone suddenly went off when he received a series of texts from Arthur. Alfred bit his lip as he opened them one by one.

[King Arthur]

i hate u bekuz fuck. i thougt we were friends! or something. u think i like that u went behind my back an got urself a lil bird? didn’t u think of MY feelings n

[Message received 5:20 PM]

[King Arthur]

ooooooo of course not! ur a bastard and and im pissed and im jealous tht some bleeding BIRD gets u before me and fuck my mobile wont stop fucking GLOWING. wy th

[Message received 5:20 PM]

[King Arthur]

e hell wont u come ober to my flat! DAMN U!

[Message received 5:20 PM]

Alfred didn’t know whether or not he wanted to laugh or cry at the drunken messages. It was rather obvious to him that Arthur wasn’t exactly the happiest drunk in the world, but he seemed brutally honest, too. Alfred frowned, rubbing the back of head in shame, even if there wasn’t anyone around to see. Shit, he didn’t realize Arthur would be so upset with him… He had to fix this. As funny as Arthur’s drunken texts were, he didn’t want to ever see them again.

[Me]

Arthur, go to sleep. I’ll come over when you wake up. Also, text me when you’re feeling better.

[Message sent 5:23 PM]

[King Arthur]

ok lad. swim fast.

[Message received 5:25 PM]

Alfred rolled his eyes at the message before thumbing through his contacts for an entirely new one.

[Me]

Hey Ang, what r you doin 2morrow?

[Message sent 5:26 PM]

[Angie]

Nothing. Why?

[Message received 5:30 PM]

[Me]

Wanna come over to the ranch? We can hang out 4 a while.

[Message sent 5:31 PM]

[Angie]

I’d LOVE to! I’ll be over after lunch!

[Message received 5:31 PM]

Alfred frowned at the quick response. Angie was a nice girl and cute to boot. He didn’t want to hurt her, but they’d only been a couple for about four days so far – but Arthur had been his best friend for ten years. He had to fix this somehow, without hurting anyone. Alfred closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Lord, please let there be a middle ground.

[Me]

Awesome

[Message sent 5:33 PM]

He stuffed his cell back into his pocket, flipping it onto silent beforehand and gathering the lead rope back into his hands. “Alright Nova,” he said grumpily, “I ain’t in the mood now for your games.”

Nova tossed her head once before starting to canter around the corral, circling Alfred as he stood in the middle or the dirt arena. Alfred threw his hands up in frustration. This was really turning out to be a sour day.

--- Chapter One End -----

Important Notes: John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Conner – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles

Unimportant Notes: I hope the pacing isn’t too slow and that it actually seems like it’s going places. Because it is… many places… :D

Btw, Don’t Stop Me Now – Queen is totally Arthur’s theme song. You know it to be true.