*TITLEHERE* (Hurry The **** Up Arthur)

[Alfred F. Jones]

It was a perfect day.
Well, as perfect as it can get when it's a chilly September morning and school has just started recently, putting all students in a rather sour mood.
That aside!
It was most definitely a better day. How's that?
The sky was a clear blue, small wisps of puffy clouds dotting the air above every now and then. A faint breeze made the greenery bend slightly with the wind. If you listened closely, it was almost as if nature itself was sighing.
Another great thing?
It was Saturday.
Alfred F. Jones decided to go for a walk because it was a rather beautiful day.
(That, and, he knew he'd completely screwed up yesterday with Arthur and he needed a distraction...)*
The garden truly was a magnificent sight to behold. The flowers were always in bloom-different types of flowers bloomed depending on the season, obviously. Most people agreed the prettiest flowers bloomed in spring-the gentle blues, pinks, pale oranges seemed to be the favorite for many. In fall the colors became slightly more subdued, but were beautiful in their own way. In winter the colors tended to be even more pale, light purples, blues and whites being the overall color scheme. Finally, in summer, the flowers had bright, harsh colors, bold and eye catching. It wasn't only flowers-there were trees and bushes bearing fruit at times (students forbidden from eating them, but no one listened, obviously). There were small rushing creeks and miniature waterfalls. There was bright green grass during spring and summer, replaced by either dark soil or winter/autumn-blooming plants when those seasons came. No matter the season, the garden at World Academy were always beautiful.
Alfred himself preferred the garden in the summer. The bright, happy colors reminded him of himself. However, he also admired the garden in the winter-flowers and most greenery were associated with the warm, sunny days of spring and summer. The fact that flowers bloomed in the winter was almost like an act of defiance-like they were saying "I can do what I want!"
Alfred liked that.
Don't get him wrong-he wasn't some sap obsessed with nature and all that. But he did love taking walks in the garden.
Well, who didn't?
Alfred walked along the grey stone paths in the garden, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets. There was already a chill in the air-the cold winds starting to blow away the only remainder of bright summer days.
Alfred really hated the cold...

[OOC: I'm bored. And I need a distraction from my science project presentation I'm going to fail tomorrow.]
* That would be this.

[Arthur Kirkland]

Arthur inhaled deeply the fresh cool air, providing a pleasant numbing relief to his heavy head. Breathing out, the air rushed out thickly, his pent-up thoughts and emotion leaking into the exhale, clearing his mind a bit more and reducing the state of unstable mayhem into a somewhat more bearable, dull throbbing. God, he had needed that; every spare second in the past week Arthur submerged himself in work, finding ways to occupy his hands and mind until he finally realized that perhaps he should do exactly the opposite and take a break. Reading a novel only picked at that sharp shard of a moment he'd desperately tried to push to the back of his mind, the memory playing throughout the time of only a few minutes but so vivid and capturing that every time he recalled the exchange, glass stabbed at his heart, cold searing the along the outline of the words etched into his thoughts. I hate you too. His fingers, normally gracefully maneuvering the flying needles, were clumsy, and he fumbled with his needles, often snapping the delicate sticks in half or ending up injuring himself, once even poking through his skin, and the completed product of his embroidery resulted in a structureless jumble of misplaced stitches. He tried writing, his pen automatically forming words, but when he read over his creations, he felt as if even an emo kid would cringe. He kindly spared the kitchens from his cooking.

Now, he felt renewed, refreshed, and after a long stretch, the knots in his muscles started to come loose, but was suddenly reminded how exhausted he was. It could wait, though. Instead of his usual scowl, a small but genuine smile flitted to his lips as he inaudibly shuffled along the rows and rows of flowers, an atmosphere of serenity overcoming Arthur as he gazed at the blossoms, his worry replaced by a stunning breathlessness at the flawless beauty of the transcendent blooms of Hetalia World Academy. He loved the carnations, especially those of snow white hue, untainted, clean, and pure, though he could tolerate a light dash of green or blue or pink tinting the ruffled petals. Roses, too were his favorites, of course, the tudor rose the national flower of the United Kingdom. Arthur also liked roses for they symbolized beauty and specifically love, which took a top priority in his mind, as he was [secretly] a hopeless romantic. His mind wandered, thinking about how ideally this garden could suit a perfect moment shared by lovers... Arthur was in a rare mood. For the first time in a while, he was quite content with his surroundings. His shoulders were relaxed, and he softly hummed the song Disenchanted from a fairly decent [though he'd never admit it] American band, My Chemical Romance, under his breath. He was a little out of practice, his voice cracking at first, but when he cleared his throat and began again, the breeze carried a smooth flowing melody into the air.

Arthur absentmindedly sang to himself as he walked along, gaze still lingering on the flowers - until he walked into someone.

[OOC; lol, sorry.]

[Alfred F. Jones]

Alfred quickly became absorbed in watching the flowers. He didn't know any of the names of the flowers (dudes, come on, he wasn't that nerdy), and the grass and flowers began to blend into one big colorful blur. Alfred found himself smiling all the same-a small but genuine one, unlike most of the ridiculously huge ones he tended to show others. (That's what she said. Yes, I am that immature)
Alfred continued to walk down the sidewalk, singing "Battle Hymm of the Republic" to himself softly. (He wasn't sure why he chose that song, but it did a pretty good job of distracting him from the fact that he was about to crash right into someone else.)
"Glory, glory, Hallelujah-"
Alfred almost didn't notice he'd crashed into someone, but once he did, he stopped abruptly and cut off the song.
"Whoa, dude, are you alright?" Alfred exclaimed automatically, bending down to help the other person up. "I'm so sorry, I guess I got distracted and didn't notice where I was...going.." Alfred's voice faltered when he finally noticed who exactly it was that he had ran into. "Ar...thur...?" Alfred stared blankly at the Brit who Alfred had last seen running away from him because he decided to be an idiot and blow up in Arthur's face. Alfred started panicking. Common sense said: Damn it, Alfred! Arthur is right in front of you! Apologize now, you've never had a better chance! At least say something already!
His mouth decided to be an asshole once and again and ignore the orders from his brain.
"Oh...dude...um..."
Alfred could barely get himself to form coherent words.
Idiotsaysomethingyougoddammnedidiotsaysomething!
"Er...you like flowers?" Alfred asked lamely.

[OOC: Took you long en freaking nough. Melinda's watching Happy Tree Friends...should I be worried?]

[Arthur Kirkland]

When two objects collide, the lighter usually ends up in the worse condition. In this case, judging how the impact had managed to easily knock Arthur backwards off of his feet, the other person probably outweighed him by twenty, thirty pounds. The Brit landed harshly on his bottom, a grunted curse slipping through his lips. Bloody great way to start off the day. Arthur stared at the hand stretched down to him, contemplating whether or not to take it, then grudgingly accepted the help, pulling himself up, smothering down his pride. Refusing would be an act of rudeness and ungratefulness, and he had no right to do so, especially when he'd been the one to barrel into the other. As he brushed himself off, an apology formed in his mouth though the other beat him to it, and Arthur changed his thoughts to reassure the other when said person's words faltered and trailed off.

Puzzled, he glanced up at the change of tone, and emerald eyes widened as he recognized his savior. All previous thoughts Arthur had were blown away by complete shock at the sight of his former only friend and the person he'd been set on avoiding as long as he could for the past few days. Needless to say, it hadn't worked out well, considering they shared a dormitory, so the nights were the slightest awkward. He couldn't help but think that fate was being particularly cruel, forcing Alfred and him together when he had just been comfortable with the current moment, spoiling his mood. His blank shock slowly turned into panic, and Arthur stumbled back, the same thick smothering feeling building in his chest as the day in the library, threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't... stop! He wouldn't run away and humiliate himself again, he couldn't. Arthur forced himself to accept oxygen, the fresh air clearing his head and the weight on his chest. No... He wouldn't let anyone hurt him again.

"Alfred," he acknowledged the American coolly, in his usual calm manner with a slight touch of aloofness. "Yes, the blooms are quite nice this time of the year." His gaze shifted onto the flowers. "I suppose I rather do appreciate their beauty." He purposely kept his eyes away from Alfred; he would not fall for anything, wouldn't let himself be fooled.

[OOC; lol, nahhhhh you should've expected it, she's your sister.]

[Alfred F. Jones]

Alfred opened his mouth to say something to respond to Arthur's aloofness. He realized he didn't know what to say, and shut his mouth again. Alfred bit his lip as he tried to formulate a coherent response that wouldn't cause the Brit to run off again...
Arthur was refusing to meet Alfred's eyes, looking purposefully in the direction of the flowers along the side of the path. Alfred couldn't help but feel slightly hurt.
Then imagine how Arthur felt in the library a few days ago, an annoying voice in the back of his mind hissed at Alfred. It's because you're just as stupid and oblivious to other people's feelings as everyone says you are.
...
That hurt. And Alfred had just told himself that, so that was quite sad, actually.
It didn't take a genius to figure out, despite the sarcastic and I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude Arthur to put on, he was actually very sensitive.
(Or maybe it was just because Alfred had hung around Arthur long enough...but that's not the point.)
"Arthur," Alfred started to say without thinking (again, despite the fact that that was what caused this whole problem in the first place). Alfred then became tongue-tied and shut his mouth.
Again.
Has anyone ever tried to apologize without opening his or her mouth in fear they might say something else that would screw everything up worse?
Yeah, well, it's pretty fucking hard.
"I'm sorry."
Now, was that so hard? a snide voice in the back of his head murmured in irritation, to which Alfred responded with a, Shut up, followed by a Aaaaand I'm talking to myself again.
Alfred scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, now gaining a sudden interest in the sidewalk he was standing on. "I...really didn't mean to blow up in your face like that, Arthur," he muttered, dropping his arm to his side again. Now he refused to look at Arthur. "I...I really don't hate you," Alfred continued awkwardly.
Alfred had never been good at apologies like this. Most of the time he never screwed up anything so seriously. It was normally stuff he could fix with an apologetic smile and a "Sorry dude. Forgive me?" That obviously wouldn't work in this case.
"I guess I was just mad and...yanno, spouting random nonsense. Doesn't everyone do that when they're mad?" Alfred smiled weakly. "I mean, Arthur, you're like my best friend..." (For some reason Alfred had trouble saying 'friend'.) He sighed. "What I want to say is: I'm sorry. I'm as stupid as everyone thinks I am, as horrible as a friend as you think I am, and I screwed up."
Alfred held his breath. (Though to be honest, he felt that if Arthur accepted his apology just like that it would've been a miracle...that would most likely not happen anyway.)

[Arthur Kirkland]

Arthur's eyes didn't shift from the rows of blossoms, just stared at magnificent blooms, his dark emerald gaze intense yet unseeing, heavily piercing into the flowerbeds. Despite his outwards vision of serenity, his erratic heartbeat pounded in his chest, refusing his demand to slow and the struggling efforts to convince himself that Alfred did not matter anymore. Their friendship was done, a sealed deal; once the damage is dealt, even the first time, something crooked cannot be mended together so smoothly nor fit together as easily as the original pristine slate. Over time, the stitches would fray, snap, and fall out again, until the object became so mangled and broken, the shattered pieces were beyond the capabilities of repair. He refused to heal the fragments only to hurt himself on the shards if their relationship cracked and split again; and not 'if', but when...

"Arthur." He froze, stiffening at the sound of his name. He usually didn't appreciate Alfred's stubborn persistence; this was one of those moments. Arthur had already known that the American would insist on attempting to mend their previous relationship, but why couldn't the other just leave him alone? Didn't he know what Arthur was thinking? Mostly likely not, for Alfred was a daft fool. A small part of him realized that he wasn't the best at expressing his feelings, but he didn't care. He wanted it to all be Alfred's fault, so he could feel anger towards the other and wouldn't have any hesitation while driving the other away; he didn't want to address the part of himself which longed to spin around and engulf the stupid git in an embrace... Goddammit.

As Alfred began an apology, Arthur kept his gaze fixed stubbornly on the flowers, his features calm though his jaw was gritted and his body tense. It's too bloody late, he thought bitterly. With every word passing through Alfred's lips, the Brit's fingers curved tighter into fists. Just how long until another fight contradicted the claims the other so sincerely promised now? He was a fool if he would take the American's words for granted. Nothing is ever meant to last, he knew, but yet he had still clung onto their friendship, naively believing that maybe it would be different for once, just goddamned once; he should have known better, for here he was, alone again, left worse off than he had been before Alfred intruded into his life. Never again would he believe such a thing could happen. Best friend? He wondered how many others Alfred had told the same. Alfred didn't need him, he definitely didn't need Alfred [he told himself], it would be fine; he would be fine. He... God, he was going to get out tonight, he needed a drink.

When he spoke, Arthur made sure to keep his voice steady and as emotionless as he could manage. "Yes, you certainly did, and I'll willing to put this whole incident behind us." He paused to prepare himself, brace himself before he continued. "In fact, we should just forget everything. All of it." He couldn't help it as his voice shook at his last words. A million emotions twisted his heart as he tried to convince himself he felt relief, but... he didn't feel relief, quite the contrary, and he needed... He needed to feel the alcohol buzzing through his veins and the sweet oblivion of semiconsciousness. The pressure in his chest was piling up, demanding release, lest he suffocate. Never mind the hangover in the morning, he needed the high. To his dismay, his voice wavered uncontrollably, "Let's end this."

[OOC; ahaha, I love making corny metaphors. This is so damn late. Maybe they could make up at the nightclub or something?]