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Post by Alfred F. Jones on May 1, 2011 10:57:07 GMT -5
Alfred was bringing what was probably the sixth or so spoon of sugar to his lips when Arthur verbalized a reply to his unintentionally blabbed story, something panging in his chest at that. He struggled for a cocky or sarcastic response, maybe even something he could throw back at him, even something as irrelevant as an insult to the older student’s eyebrows, then simply settled on a bit of laughter that wasn’t meant to come out sounding strained as it did.
He was just calling him a kid. So what? Everyone did that, literally everyone, and he did act like a kid. It was just who he was, his personality, so what was the shame in it? It never affected him when anyone else did it, so why did it make a difference if the stuffy British dude said it? It shouldn’t matter.
.. That was how he wanted to think, how he would like to think and reassure himself, but he didn’t want him, Arthur of all people to see him as just that childish, goofy underclassmen that might or might not have ADD.
More than a little frustrated with himself, overall for reacting like this, he went back to indulging himself with the sugar jar, now dead set on swallowing twice as much as he’d decided to previously. He didn’t even care if he was binging again, something that had always been a bad habit of his, his only way of dealing with sadness, usually. He’d beat out that sadness with a sugar rush, if he had to.
This being said, Alfred didn’t notice the Englishman questioning him on his odd behavior, not until he looked up, his expression resembling that of a deer caught in headlights.
“Oh! Uh, this is.. I’m just stuffing down my daily sugar intake, is all!” He lied, badly. The blond never was the best liar. “I.. do this all the time, y’ know? For that, uh, extra boost?”
Well, that came out just as convincing as planned. He inwardly cursed himself and his mouth, but regardless, hastily set the jar aside and took the plate from the other’s hands, mumbling a small, “Thanks.” before occupying said mouth, his God damned mouth, with a large bite of the sandwich.
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Post by Arthur Kirkland on May 17, 2011 23:04:46 GMT -5
Arthur's frown deepened, and he reached forward to take the sugar jar. "You eat this raw all the time?" he questioned, turning to Alfred with a critical stare. "That isn't healthy."
...Hell, just a mere 'that isn't healthy' was hardly enough to describe how utterly atrocious it was for Alfred's diet. He didn't even want to think about all the pains that Alfred would go through if he was diagnosed with diabetes or some disease like that, or even grew fat.
"You're forbidden from doing that ever again," the Englishman said, putting on the lid and making sure it was sealed tightly before returning it to its original place in the cabinets. "And before you complain, it's for your own good. I know you're at the age where your appetite never seems to end, but you really ought to control your diet. It'll help you in the long run."
Arthur knew that he sounded very much like a nagging parent, but he couldn't help himself. Alfred obviously didn't care much about his diet, which left him to take care of that part for the other student. (Of course, if it were anyone else, he probably wouldn't have cared at all.)
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on May 23, 2011 14:57:11 GMT -5
Alfred’s eyes widened practically in sync with Arthur’s frown as it deepened. He was rendered speechless as the other began to lecture him on his health. The blond had purposely and carefully avoided insulting the Englishman’s coffee making skills, and as a matter of fact, went out of his way to do so, and this was what he got in return?
“Lame.” He mumbled, likely too quietly for the other to hear. The blond nibbled at his sandwich, simply watching with something caught between a pout and a scowl as the older student ran off about his diet.
“Dude, why’s it such a big deal?” The American practically drawled out in reply once he was finished talking. “I’m in perfect shape, and I’m completely healthy, so there’s nothing to worry ‘bout.” He swallowed the last piece of the sandwich before crossing his arms and continuing with a soft huff. “You sound like you could be a mom, or something.”
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Post by Arthur Kirkland on Jun 4, 2011 18:14:47 GMT -5
"It's turning into a habit, and habits aren't easy to break. When you're past your prime and your metabolism slows down, you'll regret it," Arthur replied, though he felt his sternness melt a little upon seeing that pout. Well, damn. "...It's for your own good. Really."
At the comment about being a mom, Arthur merely shook his head and turned around to clean up whatever mess resulted from making the sandwich. That was an issue. How could he care about Alfred without seeming like a parent, or just... an insensitive jerk? He couldn't, and that was what bothered him. The way Alfred just acted made him react poorly, and it made him wonder just why the hell he even liked the dumb American anyway. (Oh, that was a silly question; he knew the answer deep inside, no matter how many times he denied it. It was just a matter of accepting it, because he instinctively rejected such attachment.)
"...But if you want to set yourself up for diabetes or obesity or anything along those lines, then feel free to continue."
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Jun 18, 2011 7:41:05 GMT -5
“It ain’t a habit.” Alfred asserted, frustrated, once again internally cursing himself, this time for the excuse. He was really, really regretting that lame excuse. “I, uh, actually don’t do it all that often, anyway! Just sometimes! Like, maybe in the morning if there’s no coffee and I’m mad tired, or whatever, but seriously!”
His lips quirked as Arthur turned, presumably to clean up. He took this opportunity to pick his crumb ridden plate off the counter where he left it and took it over to the sink. As he switched on the hot water and reached for the soap, the older student made his second comment, and Alfred’s pout returned.
“I’m not gonna’ get diasomethingorother. And I have a crazy high metabolism, you don’t even know. I’m seriously cool.” The blond reassured, starting to scrub the plate agitatedly with a stray sponge.
He didn't like it one bit when people nagged him about his health, because really, he was perfectly fine. It wasn't like he could genuinely worry anyone, but he was supposed to be the one worrying about others and reminding them to take care of themselves, not the other way around. This was all the more frustrating because it was Arthur, damn it. He was supposed to be trying to look more mature in front of him, not—.. damn it.
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Post by Arthur Kirkland on Jun 27, 2011 6:27:19 GMT -5
"Don't lie; you're terrible at it," Arthur replied, tying up the bag that the bread was in and returning it to a much easier-to-reach cabinet. "It's not morning right now, and you don't look or sound very tired at all. There was - still is, actually - coffee, too."
Nevertheless, the Englishman continued cleaning up his mess, and turned around to watch Alfred wash the dishes. It'd irritate him and make him worry needlessly for the stupid American prat, but... well, it was clearly frustrating the boy, and he didn't want to drive Alfred away. (Not when he wanted Alfred much, much closer.) So, he just ended it with an exasperated sigh and a, "If you insist. Hopefully, I won't be around to see you mope around if your future girlfriend complains about your diet."
(If she did... why, that stupid, ungrateful little b--)
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Jul 5, 2011 0:39:41 GMT -5
“Not lying, and I wasn’t thirsty anymore.” Alfred grumbled uselessly.
The instant those words left his mouth, he regretted them. He predicted Arthur would merely roll his eyes and retort with something along the lines of, ‘So you decided to dump sugar down your throat?’ The blond wanted to roll his own eyes at how horrible that second excuse was. It was even worse than the last one.
Though he had been slightly distracted with this train of thought, Alfred eventually finished scrubbing away at his plate. He ended up deciding shortly after that it would be best if he washed the rest of the dirty dishes and glasses still remaining in the sink while he was at it. After all, Matt would probably just end up doing it later. He hated how his brother was always stuck with that task, even though he was the one who volunteered for it on his own.
Regardless, the older twin figured he might as well take advantage of the fact that the younger one wasn’t there at the moment and take on the chore himself, so he did just that.
“Arthur, if I ever did get a girlfriend, she sure as heck wouldn’t be complaining about my diet. I eat enough healthy food, and I’m all muscle, anyway.” He replied, pouring just a bit more soap than he probably should onto a cup.
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Post by Arthur Kirkland on Jul 6, 2011 22:04:58 GMT -5
"The thought of not drinking the coffee didn't even occur to you?" Arthur asked dryly, crossing his arms and clearly unamused. Well... this conversation really could've gone better, but he supposed he was bound to have Alfred dislike him for a very long time.
"And you're right. You two would lead the perfect life; become high school sweethearts, stay strong through college, get married, have two children, get a dog, the whole white picket house fence bullshit, right?" the Englishman sneered a little, shaking his head. (He wasn't bitter, oh no. Of course not. Nope, not him.) It was far too late for this. If he wanted to be clear-minded enough to edit his English essay one more time before turning it in during his second period class, he needed to get some sleep. "In any case, good luck with studying. I trust you don't need my help anymore?"
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Jul 16, 2011 4:44:49 GMT -5
“Uh, duh it did, Arthur.” Alfred drawled out, suddenly feeling a lot like he was talking to a brick wall, or maybe a parent that only listened to themselves talk and never actually paid mind to whatever it was the child had to say, meaningful or not. Though, when he thought about it, a brick wall and a parent that didn’t listen were practically the same thing, anyway. He just downright felt agitated, and though he probably wouldn’t admit it, he was more agitated with himself than anything. “That’s why I was shoving sugar down my throat. Alternatives, y’ know?”
The blond couldn’t really have reacted any other way considering Arthur’s tone and facial expression. He sounded almost bitter, and he normally sounded bitter or annoyed or whatever it was, but even more so than usual. Now, Alfred was more confused than anything. Swallowing back any negative comments he’d have in response to the other’s already negative attitude, he took a deep breath and silently exhaled, afterward putting on his usual smile.
“Dude, what’s your beef? All you ever do is dis me. It’s kind of a weird way to show how awesome you think I am.” He inquired lightheartedly, even throwing in a laugh afterward in effort to show Arthur he was trying to joke around.
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Post by Arthur Kirkland on Sept 4, 2011 8:17:44 GMT -5
Arthur merely shook his head, not looking too amused. But, if Alfred was going to ruin his supposedly 'all-muscle' body, then fine; Arthur wouldn't care. (He was stupid for doing so in the beginning, anyway. Why did he ever assume that Alfred would appreciate it? Really, he was so stupid. Just because he cared about Alfred didn't mean that Alfred would care about him right back. That was a lesson he'd learned long time ago; why had he forgotten?)
"...I don't think you're awesome at all," Arthur replied, his frown clear as he turned to leave the kitchen. "In fact, I think it'd be more accurate to say that I downright despise you." The sad part was that it was all too true... and yet, at the same time, all too false. "You're ungrateful, loud, arrogant, obnoxious, and just... everything I hate." A pause, "Or... everything I ought to hate." (Ought to, but didn't. Wished to, but couldn't.)
Ah, and there approached the feeling where he felt like he'd really said more than he should've. (It was really happening far too much, now. He was slipping.)
"...I-In any case, I'll be heading back to my room, now. If you find it that difficult to study on your own again, I... suppose you can come by again. But don't make a habit out of it."
(...Dear God, he really was an idiot, wasn't he...? Oh, how the mighty have fallen.)
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Sept 10, 2011 11:49:46 GMT -5
Alfred’s smile almost immediately turned downward. He remained silent, feeling his chest constrict at the other’s words.
He knew he was ‘ungrateful’, ‘loud’, ‘arrogant’, ‘obnoxious’ and everything the other hated. Come to think of it, it was everything anyone in their right mind would hate, wasn’t it? He didn’t need to be told that twice. He reminded himself of that more than enough. An annoyance. That’s all he was. Despite all of it, he still tried, and at the moment, he could only be furious with himself for doing so.
Blinking away the angry tears stinging and threatening to form in the corners of his eyes, he snapped back up to meet the back of the other’s head.
“Ought to?” He finally repeated. Clenching his fists, he rose his voice. “Stop beating around the bush! If you hate me, flat out say so! No false friendliness on the side! Then you don’t have to deal with me anymore! You don’t even need to be polite about it! My God, Arthur.”
With that, Alfred was pushing past him and storming upstairs, back towards his room. Going to Matt like usual had been the better idea after all. He wouldn’t be caught dead making that mistake again.
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Post by Arthur Kirkland on Sept 14, 2011 3:52:27 GMT -5
Panic was the first emotion that arose, cold and bitter, as he felt Alfred push past him to go up the stairs. No, no, no; why couldn't he just have kept his stupid mouth shut? That wasn't what was supposed to happen! (But then again, when did anything go according to plan when he had such a hard time voicing his feelings?)
"I-- Alfred, wait!" he called out, moving after the American before he could even think twice about his actions. His entire body was thrumming with anxiety as he ran up the stairs, taking two at a time, before he finally reached Alfred and grasped the other boy's hand, holding on tightly.
(It was warm.)
The rational portion of his mind berated him almost immediately and told him to let go. What good would there be, in clearing up the misunderstanding? Alfred wouldn't reciprocate his feelings, and he'd just be making a fool out of himself. To make it worse, it was all too easy to imagine Alfred's reaction. Gorgeous blue eyes, lit up with amusement; bright laughter, twisted to become derisive and mocking; and worst of all, his words. Arthur almost let go when they ran through his head - who would ever like someone like you, Arthur? You're bitter, boring, pathetic, and... oh, did I mention ugly? I mean, look at your eyebrows! -, but managed to hold on tightly.
(Please, please, please don't pull away.)
"I don't hate you, idiot! It's the exact opposite...!"
(Please.)
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Sept 25, 2011 21:35:18 GMT -5
Alfred heard the other call out to him for him to wait—it was the only thing he could hear, save for the irritating dejected pounding of his own heart—but he bit his tongue and forced himself to ignore it. He couldn’t just stop and turn around after a dramatic exit like that. How stupid would he look if he were to do that? Definitely more stupid than Arthur already made him out to be. Not that he even cared what Arthur made him out to be, or anybody else, for that matter.
.. But that wasn’t true, as painstaking as it was. He did care, maybe a bit too much—about how Arthur saw him, anyway. Why did he have to care? Why? It didn’t matter how anyone else saw him so long as he was content with himself, right? He was lectured about that since kindergarten. Even so, in the end, how could he manage to be content with himself when he was a constant annoyance to those around him, namely Arthur? There was no way.
The blond’s eyes widened as he was jarred out of his self deprecating thoughts by a hand suddenly grasping his. He didn’t dare hope Arthur actually chased after him as well, but he risked turning and worsening his already damaged mindset. He found himself ridiculously bewildered when it actually was Arthur standing before him, clutching his hand as if he was someone that actually mattered to him.
His hand was so warm.
Eyebrows knitted, Alfred shook his head and quickly averted his gaze, not wanting to see what kind of expression the other might have. Now, he would shake him off, continue storming down the hallway and not say another word to the Englishman.
“Seems a heck of a lot like you do.” He murmured, despite his intentions.
Pull away, he was telling himself for the second time, now, biting his lip. This is the part where you pull away and never look back. Why aren’t you pulling away?
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Post by Arthur Kirkland on Sept 29, 2011 3:42:28 GMT -5
Arthur failed to hold back a grimace upon hearing those words, if only because he knew that they were true. He’d… really set himself up for ruin; that much, he knew. Somehow, somewhere along the line, he’d started to grow attracted to Alfred. The American’s stupidly bright smile brought warmth to his chest, and he… didn’t want to let it go. But naturally, because he was Arthur Kirkland – and really, he just had to subconsciously be some sort of masochist – he went and ruined everything for himself. He’d taken the smile that had made him so happy and crushed it; taken it and thrown it back, hurling venomous words and insults that he really didn’t mean.
He didn’t know why it happened, but… he was never able to stop himself. Even if his mind was whirling with how gorgeous Alfred looked on a particular day, or how nice he was, or how he’d done something right… all Arthur could ever manage to get past his lips were insults and criticisms that the American didn’t really deserve half the time.
And… really, now that he remembered all this, he felt stupid for even thinking of confessing. (He really was a masochist, wasn’t he?) There was absolutely no way that Alfred would ever like him – ever. Who would like the boy that constantly put them down? That constantly nitpicked at their every fault? No one. Not even Alfred, in all his kindness and cheer and love for everything that seemed to breathe, would.
(Don't let go.)
(Don't let go.)
(Don't let go.)
Hesitantly, Arthur released Alfred’s hand, having just a quarter of a mind to cry. His hand felt empty and a little colder than it ought to be, but really, it was something that he’d brought upon himself.
Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet and gaze averted. “…I know,” he replied, feeling a deep ache in his chest that made him grit his teeth as he tried to banish it. “I just— I don’t know why it’s so bloody difficult around you. I can speak my mind just fine around the others, I’ll have you know, but when it comes to you…” He was useless, hopeless, and completely foolish. He panicked when he had to say something to Alfred, and somewhere along the line, the panic twisted his words of kindness into words of hate. “…Nevermind. Silly of me to think I could ever compare to some pretty girl that’d actually know how to compliment you.”
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