{open} hogwarts

[Alfred F. Jones]

...Talk about completely contradicting one's earlier statement. Alfred blurted out the first thing that popped into his mind, which was probably going to wind up him (once again) almost ruining their friendship because he was being an ass for one reason or another.
"Pfft. Yeah, well, I hate you too. Whenever I try to talk to you, you always snap at me for one reason or another. Can't blame me for trying to be friendly. Besides, who else would talk to you?" Alfred added snidely. The common sense side of his brain was screaming at him to shut up and say you're sorry, but he ignored it. Every time he'd tried to get Arthur's attention, he was swatted away with a scornful insult. Every time he'd tried to be nice, the conversation would turn into a argument. To be honest, Alfred wasn't even sure why he wanted Arthur's attention all the time-he had plenty of other friends (unlike Arthur) and he could easily ditch the sarcastic Brit to go hang out with them. But Alfred stubbornly insisted on hanging out with Arthur-for reasons he still didn't understand, as mentioned earlier-and every time he tried, he would only get a "I hate you" or "You're ridiculousstupidobnoxiousdumbannoying-"
Alfred knew he tended to be annoying. He was obnoxious, and acted rather ridiculous at times. He tried not to be like that, but at least he tried. Arthur didn't even seem to fucking care. If the Brit could just make and effort to be kind and not get pissed off so easily, his life would just go along so much more smoothly. But no. He had act like there was a stick up his ass every second of every minute of every fucking day.
"Aren't we friends? Can't we go through one conversation without you telling me that you hate me? If you really hate me so much, as much as you say you do, then go find someone else to be your friend. Good luck with that, anyway. All we do is fight, compete, whatever?"
Alfred learned long before that it was never a good idea to keep your emotions bottled up. Unfortunately, he did that all the time. And also, unfortunately, he needed to have a way to release all those emotions. Half the time when he did, he wasn't sure if he wanted to scream, cry, or laugh.
This was one of those times.
Almost as quickly as Alfred's anger started, it was gone, leaving him breathing heavily the middle of the library, a faint echo of his angry shouts still ringing in the marble room. Alfred vaguely wondered why no librarian had come over to check on them yet, but didn't give it much thought.
He refocused on the man standing in front of him.
Oh god...wait...what did I say?
After mentally going over his rant in his mind, Alfred started feeling a little bad for what he said.
"Wait...Arthur...I mean..." Alfred stammered, not sure of what to say or how he felt. His voice faltered, and he fell silent.

[OOC: And this was what first popped into my head after reading your post:
Alfred- “Aw, Artie. Don't cry? You're cute when you're sad, don’t get me wrong, but I'd much rather see you happy...we all know how beautiful you are when you smile. So brighten up! I won’t leave you. I could never leave you…”
Oh god how cheesy. T^T I’m a sap.
Eh, I don't care. Let's just keep going with this post the way it is and see what happens. ^.^ On other news...Mwahahaha drama~ I got bored...xD]

[Arthur Kirkland]

...What? This... this wasn't...

Arthur had been expecting a childish pout and whining complaints, the American's usual response to Arthur's cold [but empty] words. What... what was this then? Alfred... hated him? At first, Arthur thought the other would go on and crack a joke, reassuring him that Alfred hadn't really meant it, that they were still acting on their usual bickering routine. Arthur could only stare at the ground, frozen in shock, as the other continued in that tone, almost flinching at every word filled with something he'd always heard but never before from Alfred. In all the years of knowing the American, he had never seen the other explode like this, never seen the other angry, only the bright cheerful aura the other always carried around... He really hadn't known Alfred at all, his supposed best friend. Did Alfred really think of Arthur like this? Was Arthur really such a horrible person? A horrible friend...

Unable to move, Arthur listened inaudibly, his gaze directed towards the floor unseeingly. The tears were rolling down his cheeks freely, but he couldn't feel them anymore, couldn't feel anything. What Alfred meant to him, Arthur couldn't explain, but in the midst of the numbness, Alfred's words ringing in his ears awakened a deep ache in his heart. His pulse pounded in his head, but Arthur could still hear the American's voice clearly reverberating in the depths of his mind, even though the rest of the world was submerged underwater. Alfred defied Arthur's entire world, a shard of light illuminating the bleak night, bringing new life to the dead, and Arthur needed that spark, that life among the emptiness. He had soon grown dependent on that light, and to take such a vital pillar away, he would collapse and shatter in an instant.

Every word lacerated him harshly, surprisingly hurting more than physical abuse; he'd rather take that ten times than the pain in his chest, sharp and fresh wounds opening each passing moment. The worst part was, Alfred's words were true. Who else would talk to you? The simple sentence held such scorn and truth, piercing him through as reality crashed through to him. Before, Arthur wouldn't have cared, even glad that others would leave him along, but it sounded so different coming out of Alfred's mouth and it made him care. But no one would care about him. Alfred hated him. Arthur's suspicions had been right; he was holding Alfred back, and the other teen had only stayed with him because no one else had, but Arthur had pushed too far this time, and lost everything. All because he had made the mistake of getting close to another, it hurt once again. He'd ruined everything. Had he even deserved Alfred's friendship?

Arthur finally raised his head, staring at Alfred with wide eyes. Hurt and shock flashed in his expressive emerald eyes. Thin streams of liquid steadily slid down the sides of his face, but Arthur couldn't care less anymore. "I fucking hate you!" he screamed, but his tone was pure desperation and pain rather than rage. He didn't, he couldn't. He tried to rouse the anger, but he only felt a strange sense of dullness.

Then Arthur knew that he had to get out of here, go anywhere else, just away from Alfred. The urge turned into full-out panic, and suddenly it seemed smothering to be in the room. So he ran; stumbling at first, then breaking into a sprint, not casting a single glance back in the direction of the library. Arthur had no idea where he was trying to go, no destination in mind, but he really didn't care anymore. He vaguely recalled the next class starting soon, but he had skipped several times before, so once more wouldn't make too much of a difference, though he slightly regretted cutting class so soon into the new school year. His lungs wheezed for oxygen, but Arthur pushed on, ignoring the burning dry feeling throughout his body; at least it distracted him from the gaping hole in his chest. After turning so many corners he didn't even know where he was anymore, he finally collapsed against the wall, and with a shuddering gasp, slid down to his knees. Face buried in his arms, Arthur allowed himself sobbed quietly, the first time in years.

[OOC; this'll be my last post for this thread. this is a nice twist ]

[/size]

[Alfred F. Jones]

Alfred, for his part, stared when Arthur screamed at him before darting out of the room. It took the American a few moments to realize what had happened, and when he did, he managed to stutter out a "Wait! Arthur-"
Naturally, it was too late. Arthur had already fled the library, leaving Alfred alone the large marble room.
Alfred stood, unmoving, frozen with shock.
Why the fuck did you do that? his common sense screamed at him. Great fucking way to be a friend, you tell him you hate him!
Ignoring the fact that in Alfred's rant, he'd been screaming at Arthur about how they always seemed to hate each other, and even going as far as to question their friendship.
Alfred felt sick to his stomach. How could he just say that? He never lost his temper. And even when he did get angry, he almost never just started screaming like that. Usually when he was irritated he usually made snide comments about the other person or got into heated arguments with him or her. Almost never had Alfred lost his temper just like that...
And for God's sake, why Arthur?
Of all the people Alfred had to blow up at, it had to be Arthur, didn't it? The one friend Alfred liked the most (for some unknown reason, as they always argued), and possibly more (wait what-?).
Alfred was still standing shock still in the library, where, moments before, he was in the middle of his and Arthur's typical playful banter.
I'm stupidstupidstupidstupidstupid-
GO AFTER HIM!
One logical thought finally entered Alfred's mind and he bolted, faster than he had in his entire life. He probably ran down fifteen corridors, and might have gone upstairs at one point, too. Alfred's mind was hazy at best at this point of time, and he when he finally realized he was standing in front of Arthur's locker (and the Brit wasn't there-damn it, where could he have gone?), he realized it was hopeless.
Alfred slammed his fist into the locker door, ignoring the twinge of pain, and he groaned in frustration.
"You're a fucking moron, Jones, you know that?" Alfred muttered to himself. He wasn't even bothering to smile his usual patented 100 watt smile at this point, not even when some other students passed him on their way to wherever the hell they were going.
The bell rang, signalling lunch was over and Alfred should probably get going to his next class.
...
To say Alfred's day was bad so far would be an understatement.

[OOC: Alright~
Whooo drama lol. And to think I normally hate drama...
Hey, btw, I made a thread in the garden a few days ago. Can we kinda continue this there? Pwetty pwease with Arthur and Alfred on top?]