“What do you see in him anyway?” The question came out of nowhere, prompting the English nation to look up from his tea in shock.
“Excuse me?” Arthur said, unable to understand what had spurred the loud-mouthed American to suddenly switch topics so fast. It was very unusual for the young nation to ever break away from one of his hair brained schemes or stories that he was so fond of telling Arthur. The boy had been that way ever since he had found him.
“What do you see in him,” Alfred repeated, taking interest in running his thumb over the lip of his tea cup. “Why are you with Scotland? I mean, I always thought he hated you, and you hated him.” The way Alfred was staring so intently at the cup was the first hint that something was up. He could feel it in the air that there was something he couldn’t quite describe about Alfred’s behavior.
Setting his tea down, placing it delicately on the platter, Arthur rested his folded hands atop of his lap, emerald green eyes studying the American’s body language. There were some things he had picked up from watching BBC’s Sherlock for so long… Despite Allistor complaining in the background, of course. Still, it had paid off in the end. He was at least able to pick enough details out to get a general idea of Alfred’s current emotional state. Distraught, depressed, almost discouraged and hopeless, those were the key aspects of his mind set.
“Well… It is relatively difficult to explain, I must say. We probably are an unexpected couple, due to the extremes of our personalities.” Arthur tilted his head slightly as he thought about it, brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “I suppose what they say is true then. Opposites really do attract. Yet, if you really want to know what I see in him, it’s his softer side.” Alfred’s eyes seemed to bulge at that statement.
“His what?” If the other blonde had been drinking anything at that moment, Arthur was sure it would have come spraying out of his nose. It was as if Alfred had thought that Allistor was really just a muscle-bound brute like he so often pretended to be. Of all people though, Arthur really thought Alfred would know better than to judge a book by its cover.
Then again, this was the personification of the United States of America he was talking to.
The English man sighed. “Well, like most people, he has more than one side to him. He may come off as a pompous, arrogant, snarky bastard, but I’ve known him long enough to be able to tell you he is much more complex a character than that,” Arthur said, a small smile crossing his lips as he thought of how Allistor always did the smallest of things to make sure Arthur knew the Scottish Nation loved him. He was a man of action, after all, always letting his touch linger just a second more than was necessary…
“Then what about those bruises on your arm?” Alfred snapped, shocking the other out of his daze inspired by thinking about Allistor. Hearing the marks Alfred had pointed out; Arthur looked at them, worrying his lip. No wonder the younger was concerned. The inexplicable bruises really didn’t seem to have a reason for being there.
“Well, not every relationship is per—“
“He abuses you!” The table cracked as Alfred slammed his hands down onto the wooden surface, having sprung up to his feet. An uncharacteristic scowl was painted across his features. “The damn asshole! Don’t worry Artie! I won’t let him hurt you no more!”
That wasn’t good.
“No, Alfred! Let me explain for heaven’s sake! He does not abuse me!” Arthur snapped, standing up as well, only refraining from abusing the poor oak table. He had had it for over a hundred years, and planned to keep it for another hundred, if it could survive that long.
The tension grew in the kitchen as Alfred visibly struggled with trying to control himself. Finally, something caved, and the teen sat back down, folding his arms over his chest. “Fine! How did you get them than, if you can come up with a good enough excuse!”
