A Convention 8

Alfred woke up first.  He looked at his watch – 7:00.  He groaned, wondering how he could be awake so early on a Saturday.  

After the brief 10 seconds of early-morning haze, it all came rushing back to him.  Right, right, the convention...  He refreshed his memory of what happened.  He recalled first that it had been an amazing day for him.  He had envisioned the con to be so much, what with the thousands of people just like him that would be there and the stuff they would all be doing.  It had delivered beyond what he had expected, without even having to meet new people, just by having Arthur by his side.  

Alfred sighed contently, thinking about his best friend, and buried his face into his pillow.  It was soaking wet.  The wetness got on his face and his chest.

That was weird...

He turned his head to the side, but Arthur wasn't there.  To the other side, no luck either.  He frowned, confused, letting his head plop back onto his pillow.  

It grunted.

That wasn't a pillow.  

The first thing Alfred noticed was Arthur's arms.  He didn't have to look behind him to know that they were wrapped around his body.

Alfred looked up slowly, knowing what he was going to see, yet eyes widening when he saw his companion fast asleep and pinned beneath him.  The sight made his heart rate shoot up, pumping all his blood into his cheeks.  Fortunately it hadn't been pumped elsewhere.

Alfred tried to move, finding that his arms were pinned beneath Arthur's neck and their legs were somewhat tangled together.  Their chests were bare and Arthur's was sweaty, presumably from having no access to fresh air for the entire night.

Alfred blushed.  Anyone who would have so happened to walk in the room would have thought…

He squeezed his eyes shut, rejecting the idea.  Don't be an idiot, he thought.  Arthur would never…

He delicately removed Arthur's hands from his back and placed them by his side, at the same time wiggling his arms out from underneath his neck.  Arthur had a slight smile plastered on his face, a sign he was still sleeping.  At seven in the morning, if he were awake, there would be a scowl in place until he had some tea.

Alfred chuckled.  He knew his friend too well.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, standing up and stretching.  He went to the bathroom to wipe the sweat off his chest and cheek.  He stood in the mirror, toweling himself off.

I'm wiping England's liquid off me…after a night in the same bed…and we're still only wearing our – NO!  PERVERT!  STUPID!  STUPID!  Alfred whacked his head on the granite sink area, hoping to prevent his thoughts from running astray.  He shook himself.  It was Arthur, goddamn it!  Arthur, who would never have anything beyond friendship with him!  

He walked back out, surprised to see the Brit still fast asleep, despite Alfred having so violently and noisily hit the stone with his head.  He shrugged and walked over to the phone on the nightstand, picking it up and dialing.

"Room service," a tired male voice said.

"A tea and a coffee brought to room 3417, please," Alfred replied.  Obviously the other guy didn't want to bother being polite, so the American didn't, either.

"No problem, madam."

"Sir," Alfred corrected, holding back a snicker.  This guy sure was tired if he thought he was a girl.

"Sorry.  No problem, sir."

With that he hung up.  Alfred laughed to himself, picking up his pile of costume and getting a shirt on.  Fail room service guy.

Once he finished, he sat in the chair by the balcony door, observing the slim convention activity at this hour and simply waiting for something to happen.

He didn't have to wait long.  Arthur groaned, and Alfred whirled his head around.  Arthur rolled over in his direction and opened his eyes slowly.  Alfred stared at the irises, still an incredibly vivid green from the opposite end of the room.  Alfred stood up and went to sit on the floor beside the bed so he could properly see Arthur's face.

"Morning," Arthur said in a monotone.    

"Morning," Alfred said, grinning back.  "Did you sleep good?"

"It's 'did you sleep well,' you dolt."

Incredible.  He even had the power to correct grammar two seconds after he woke up.

Arthur continued.  "And yes, I did sleep well, despite you not letting me move by deciding to pin me to the bed."

Alfred twitched then recovered a second later by smiling.  "Just for the record, I didn't decide to do that.  You know I move around when I'm dreaming."  Come to think of it, he couldn't really remember what he dreamed about…

Arthur sighed and sat up.  "You talk, too," he muttered, standing and stretching.

Alfred watched.  "Really?  What'd I say?"

Arthur didn't reply, walking over to his costume, neatly folded on his suitcase.  Instead he said, "First thing I do when we get down to the foyer is get a cup of tea."

"Already taken care of," Alfred said, grinning wide and standing up.

Arthur cocked an eyebrow at him, wanting an explanation.  As if on cue, there was a knock at their door.  Alfred went to open it.  A guy in a maroon suit handed him a tray with two mugs, a pot, and a bunch of milk and sugar.  Alfred took the tray from him.

"Thanks…" he looked at the guy's name tag.  "Maurice."

The man bowed, and Alfred handed the tray to Arthur to get the tip out of his pocket.

Arthur sat down on the bed, placing the tray on the nightstand and getting to work right away on his tea.  Alfred went to join him.

"Funny that's his name's Maurice," he said.

"Why so?"

Alfred reached for his coffee.  "Catcher in the Rye," he replied simply.

Arthur scowled.  "That bloody book," he said, recalling the partner project they had been assigned to work on based in tenth year, based on it.  They had to analyze characters in the story, and Alfred and Arthur had been assigned the character Maurice, a man who worked at a hotel.

Alfred shook his head, pouring his 6th spoon of sugar into his mug.  "I know you hated the book.  But if you remember, it's over that project that you became my best friend."  He smiled fondly at the other.

The friend in question took a sip of his tea and smiled back.  "That's the only reason I haven't tried to forget it."

Alfred smiled, put down his coffee and hugged Arthur tightly.  "I love you," he said simply.

Arthur leaned his head on Alfred's shoulder.  "I know."

The two stayed like this for a few seconds.

Then Alfred remembered the dream he had last night.  

It picked a damn good moment to come back to him.

----------

Arthur and I are in black and white.  We are walking away from an old style airplane, when Arthur takes my hand.  This is normal for us, yet we barely know each other.  Arthur turns to face me.  "Jones, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Arthur and I keep walking.  What he said is familiar to me, but I don't remember why.

We suddenly lift off the ground, continuing to hold hands.  I look down and I know I won't fall.  We sit down on a cloud.  Arthur turns to me.  "Alfred, you're amazing," he says.  He is completely different from when he was on the ground.  I also notice we are no longer in black and white, but fuzzy colour.  

I don't know how to answer him.  "You complete me, Arthur," I finally say.  I don't decide to say it, I just do.

Our lips touch once and briefly.  More vivid colour streams into the world.

I haven't noticed, but now the cloud has become an eagle.  We are riding atop the eagle's back.

Arthur is now wearing England's clothes.  "England," I whisper, hugging him from behind.  "England."  Nothing more.

He doesn't acknowledge me.  I say his name desperately a few times more.  

I suddenly realize I have stopped saying 'England' and what comes out is 'Arthur', no matter how hard I try to say 'England', Arthur is what comes out.  Tears stream down my face.

I give up trying to say England.  "Arthur," I say.  He turns to me and kisses me again, deeply.  He tastes like what I imagine him to taste like.  He smiles and floats away, obscured from my vision by a cloud.

I look at the puff of white.  "Arthur, my love…" I whisper to it.  Then I smile.  "Here's looking at you, kid."

Again, what I said is familiar to me, though I can't remember why.

----------

"Alfred?" Arthur said, sounding concerned.

Alfred came out of his momentary zone-out.  He realized he was still hugging Arthur.  He let go, studying the other's face.  

"Casablanca," he whispered.

Arthur frowned in confusion.  "Sorry?"

Alfred shook himself.  "Oh…um, I just remembered my dream is all."  He picked up his coffee and took a sip, hiding his cheeks.  That's what the lines in his dream were from.  Casablanca.

Arthur stared at him for a while.  "I can imagine why you're blushing, then," he said.

Damn, he noticed… Alfred thought.  "Why's that?"

The Brit sipped his tea.  "If what you were saying last night is anything like what you dreamed about, you have reason to be embarrassed."

"What did I say?"

"You were confessing your love for me."  

Alfred swallowed.  "For England?"

"No, for me.  It made it bloody awkward, especially with you lying on top of me like that."

It was odd that Arthur didn't seem to be bothered by it.  Alfred didn't attempt to hide his rising blush.  "And you don't care?" he asked, faking a smile.

"Not particularly," Arthur said, grinning back.  "It's a dream.  Dreams don't mean anything."

Alfred's heart lurched forward.  He looked down into his coffee, a dark cream colour swirling around in a darker brown.  He, unlike Arthur, believed the old saying that 'dreams were a reflection of your greatest desires.'  The current situation, as a result, scared him out of his mind.

Alfred was left staring into the continuously spiralling coffee, pondering the classic, yet just as unanswerable question:

What is this feeling?     

TBC.