Right Under Your Nose (A USUK Hetalia Restaurant AU fic)

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Awwww! Alfred you, you,you! Gah, adorable!

[Akahana]

OH BABUES!! OH I CAN'T WAIT TO ALFRED'S LIFE THAT'S PROBABLY NO AS PERFECT AS IT SEEMS I AM SO EXCITED!!! Love this~ <3

[obsessed]

You never disappoint <3

[8lifflefoot]

This is too adorable!! I can't wait for the next part!!

[Not_Telling]

:jawdrop:

LKASJBVLASIHBVLASIJDVAIPOWUBFIOAWUBV ADORABLE MISERABLE ARTHUR!!!

[squealofapproval]

SO GOOD OMFG

[Hibiscus]

“Bless you,” Alfred said, trying to pretend he hadn't just been staring.

Does Alfred...?

Arthur's post-sneeze groans are probably one of the hottest things ever.

[AOTgirl2]

Gahh, this is WAY too cute!

[JQLovesSneezes]

Aw, poor Iggy! This is just way too cute!! Keep it up!

[meepsy]

I'm so glad you guys are enjoying the story so far. I might be a little slower to update over the next few days, sorry!

This chapter features an appearance from Scotland, and I've taken some, er... liberties with his characterization -- (Trigger warning, for some slight unsavory behavior.)

Here you go! Thank you again, everyone! All your comments make me so incredibly happy!

~o~

Part Five

“Hey, Arts, time to wake up.”

Arthur startled awake with a soft snort. He began to cough immediately, and moaned weakly when the fit was over, forgetting in his grogginess his sense of propriety.

Alfred looked over with concern. “We're turning onto Belmont now. I need you to show me which house it is.”

“Oh. Righdt,” Arthur muttered hoarsely, rubbing his eyes, “Idt's... hh... H'gtCHsh! *sniff* ...Idt's thadt big Victdorian upb ahead.”

Arthur was taken with another coughing fit as Alfred parked the truck in front of the house the Englishman had pointed out. “Hang on,” the American said, unbuckling, and stepped out of the truck. He walked around the back to the passenger side, opened the passenger door, and held out his hand. “I'll walk you up, okay?”

Arthur felt the sting in his pride, but he was too occupied with coughing to argue, so he reluctantly accepted the American's hand, turning away to cough out the remainder of the fit, and climbed out of the truck, all the while marveling at the strength he felt in Alfred's grip, the warmth, and the comforting feeling of safeness he felt wash through him. After getting control of his fit and stabilizing himself on the ground, Arthur took his hand back, but he missed the touch immediately.

They climbed the large stone steps that led u to the front porch – Arthur struggling a bit, supporting himself against the handrail, Alfred following behind with a protective hand not quite touching, but near enough. When at last they reached the porch, Arthur sniffled, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

“Ahhh, werll look 'oo it is!” sing-songed a voice from the couch. A man in his late twenties, with classically handsome features and mussed auburn hair peeked over its arm. “I din't expect yeh back till tha wee hors a' tha morn', lil' brotha!” The young man's thick Scottish accent was further obscured by a slight slurring, which Alfred gathered was probably due to the bottle of half-emptied scotch he spotted sitting on the side table.

The Scottish man sat up, giving Alfred a once over, and grinned wolfishly. “Ohhh, an' oo's this luvly specimen yah've brought with ya then? Thatta boy, Art. I din' know ya were a lad a' such quality taste!”

Alfred blushed royally and looked away. Arthur seethed.

“Shove the fugk off righdt ndow before I knodck your blooddy face ind, you disgustding, vile twadt of a humban beingg!” he snarled, his voice cracking, and stormed up the stairs, ignoring the cackling that came from the couch. Alfred tentatively followed suit.

“Sorry aboudt thadt,” Arthur said at last, ruefully, as he reached the end of a winding, narrow hallway. “Sgcott has a very, um... targetded attendtion spban when he drinkgs. He's harmbless, really.”

“It's fine,” Alfred lied. “I'm, uh, kind of flattered, actually,” he blushed again at the thought of what Arthur's brother was implying, but he shook it off and followed the Englishman into what he could only assume was his bedroom.

“Artie... is this really where you sleep?” Alfred asked, looking around the room, which was nothing more than a large-closet sized storage area – unfinished, with piles of boxes stacked to the ceiling, one small window and a wall deeply slanted from the high roof.

“ ...I mean, it isn't even heated, is it?”

Arthur walked past the stacks of boxes to a small nook where a flimsy-looking cot was set up, piled high with blankets. “Idt's warmb enough,” he replied, though his shivering was clear evidence against the statement. He took of his scarf and coat – laying them on box pile that was approximately end table height – and sighed, running a hand though his hair.

“Thankg you againd for doingg this, Alfred,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the cot. He coughed, loosened his tie and rubbed the back of his neck, looking more worn out and vulnerable than Alfred had ever seen him. “-Itd's incredibly kind of yuhh... you.” his face cleared as the impending sneeze seemed to back down.

But only for a moment.

“Hg'tCHUu! ...hugh'TSHch!” The Brit caught the sneezes in his hand, keeping hold over his nose as he felt around the head of the cot, finally retrieving an embroidered white handkerchief from beneath his pillow. He paused with the cloth held over his nose, waiting, it seemed, for one last sneeze.

“hhh! … huhh... 'GTSHUu! ..ughn.” he wiped his nose and coughed into the cloth, before finally blowing his nose – thick and wet and not-very-fun sounding. Alfred surprised himself by finding the handkerchief to be endearing, and even a bit adorable, (it was just so Arthur), but this feeling troubled him, (he was having a lot of troubling feelings today it seemed like), so he swallowed his concern back and instead mumbled a muted “bless you.”

He knew he should leave and let the Englishman get some sleep, but he had some serious reservations about this so-called “bedroom”.

“Hey, look, are you sure you'll be okay here? I mean... you're totally welcome to crash at my place if you want. My bro's in the process of moving out, so I even have an extra bed available....” Alfred knew he was riding the “none-of-his-business” edge pretty closely, but he couldn't help it. It was drafty as heck in here, and a few measly blankets weren't going to do anything. But the Englishman shook his head with conviction.

“No, pblease, you've donde enough alreddy. I'll be finde. Thankg you.”

Alfred could hear the uncharacteristically weary humility in the Englishman's voice, and he knew he was already running late to get back to the restaurant, so, reluctantly, he relented.

“Okay, well uh... take care, Artie. Feel better, okay?” He had an urge to touch the Englishman's forehead once more, but he restrained himself and instead left, closing the door softly behind him.

“Oo, leavin so soon ,ar ya?” Arthur's brother drawled as Alfred made his way back down the stairs. “My poor brotha mus not 'av been very entertainin'. I, on th' other hand, am a fukin' riot, once ya get t' know me.” He leered. “Do ya want t' get t' know me?”

It took a good portion of Alfred's resolve not bolt out the door. He laughed anxiously. “Uh, haha, thanks, but I think I'm gonna have to take a rain check.” The Scottish man shrugged (or attempted to shrug anyway), “Yer loss, laddie. Lemme know if y' change yer mind.”

Alfred grimaced, but held his ground. “Yeah... hey, um, listen, man. Your brother's not feeling so hot. Could you do me favor and look after him for me?”

The Scottish man smiled that carnivorous grin of his. “Ohh, aye, I'll keep an eye on 'im. So long 's you promise t' look after tha fit-as-shite arse a' yers!” The Scot winked, and Alfred wondered if a person could possibly die from blushing too hard.

“Hoookaaaay! Right, um... thank you?” He bid the Scot an awkward goodbye, and made a hasty retreat back to his truck. Turning the ignition, Alfred began the drive back to the restaurant, his mind fully occupied with the thought of getting the heck out of there as fast as possible, (except, of course, for the tiny part that was busy wishing desperately for an excuse to stay.)

~o~

[Not_Telling]

:o

Ooo Arthur...sick and sleeping in a crampy old closet with no heating...

Can't wait to see how it turns out

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Ohhhhhh Scotland I presume? Heeheehee this is giving me butterflies!

[obsessed]

meeeepsy this story is so good and the characters are so entertaining!

[Flufferdust]

This is really, really cute and very captivating! (I'm so happy you're back!!) Keep up the good work, I really love this!

[Akahana]

NO ALFRED YOU MARCH BACK THERE AND TAKE YOUR BABE BACK where he can get a warm bed and a sweetheart like you to take care of him!! I hope everything turns out ok!! I'm actually kind of worried...

[cupkake]

Alfred asking Scotland to look out for Arthur and being all concerned is the cutest thing ever. This is so cute and they are so precious, can they just cuddle already?

[VividBubbles!]

Just read all of this and nnnngggg, USUK feels are just overwhelming me right now. I can't wait to read the next part!

(PS. I can't be the only one crossing my fingers for contagion. )

[SweetDevil]

This is so perfect...! The way you write Scotland... S'just so perfect and makes you wanna laugh at the same time. And the plot-- I can't even! *dies*

[meepsy]

Hey! Sorry it's been a while -- real life keeps me pretty busy! I'm so so happy you guys are enjoying this! I'm really growing kind of attached to this story, so it's nice to see other people are enjoying it as well.

This next part is a bit intense, just so you know. (warning in white text, hidden for spoilers: {high fever, hospital visit}) Warning for some heavy language also.

Hope you enjoy!

~o~

Part Six

After what felt like a century later, Alfred was finally done with his, (well, Arthur's), shift. If truth be told, it was a pretty rough night. Alfred had grossly underestimated how tired he'd be by the end of it, despite the two red bulls he'd sneaked in while he waited in the kitchen for his various orders to be cooked.

It wasn't just the long shift that had gotten to him though. Throughout the night, a vague, pervading sense of unease had creeped over him like a fog, clouding his thoughts, messing with his ability to focus on the job. He couldn't stop worrying about Arthur, and how much he was worrying was even more worrying. After all, it wasn't like they were particularly close or anything. In fact, beyond giving Arthur a ride home every now and then, they'd never really hung out together outside of work at all. Which was why it was all the harder to justify Alfred's unsettlingly intense urge to go back, despite all rational reasoning, and check on the Englishman.

He tried to fight it, told himself he was being stupid and overbearing. It was one thing to give the guy a ride home – it was a completely different thing to go out of his way to go back to Arthur's, (okay, Arthur's brother's), apartment now, when it was nearing midnight, with no reason other than to settle his own conscience. The Englishman would scoff at him surly, and might even be weirded out by it - like enough that it could potentially add an underlying level of awkwardness to their relationship - which would be terrible because Arthur was one of the few people Alfred actually looked forward to working with, despite what one might think from their rather bicker-y work relationship.

Nevertheless, he couldn't shake the strange feeling of disconcert that hovered about him, and so as he left, waving goodbye to the kitchen staff, Alfred knew he had made up his mind already.

Twenty minutes, (and a lot of futile internal deliberation), later he was back on Belmont, parking in front of Arthur's brother's house. One final moment of uncertainty after that, and he was walking up the steps, and by then there was no turning back. The light he saw on in the living room helped ease his mind a bit – at least the Scotsman hadn't gone to bed yet. One less person he had to wake up unnecessarily.

Alfred knocked on the door. He waited a bit, shuffling his feet around anxiously, then knocked again when there was no answer.

“Hello? Uh, Scott?” He felt bad about calling out in the middle of the night, but he was getting desperate. Finally, after a few more knocks, he heard sounds of movement coming from within the apartment. Alfred watched with apprehension as Arthur’s brother opened the door, and if he thought the guy had been pretty under the table before, it was nothing compared to the state he was in now.

“Wrll, h'llo there g'rgeous. T' what d' I owe this esteemed ah'nr, ey?” The Scotsman leaned against the doorway in probable attempts at cool casualty, but it became more of a brace to prop him up.

Alfred took a deep breath. “Hey, um, you remember me, right? I'm Alfred, the guy who dropped Artie off? Yeah, well, the thing is-” He felt the blush rush to his cheeks, but he forced himself to barrel on forward. “I'm, uh... I've got some tip money to drop off for him. Do you know if he's sleeping? Do you mind if I go up really quick to check?” Alfred's heart was in his throat as he waited for the Scotsman's delayed reply.

“Ah think yer've been mistaken, laddie. L'l Arthur's not yet back fr'm work. But-” He cupped a hand to his mouth as if about to share a secret, nearly losing his balance in turn. “Ah do'n mind keepin' yeh comp'ny till 'e gets home.” The Scot put a hand on Alfred's shoulder and ushered him in. Alfred stared at him, feeling a sharp jolt of worry bubble up in his stomach.

“What do you mean Arthur's not home? He's been upstairs for hours. I asked you to watch him.” The Scot looked at him blankly, then grinned.

“Yer pullin' the wool or' me head, aye? Yer a mis'ch'vous one, y' are!” Alfred tuned the Scotsman out, panic completely hijacking his brain. He pushed past him and headed briskly for the stairway. The Scot stumbled after him, calling “Ah! Playin' 'ard t' get, are we?” before tripping and then settling drunkenly at the base of the stairs.

Alfred reached Arthur's door and knocked, trying get a hold of himself. “Artie?” he called softly, then a bit louder. “Artie? It's me, Alfred. Are you asleep?” His heart was beating a mile a minute. “A-Artie, you there?” From within the room, he heard a dim, hoarse moan, and that was all the sign he needed to completely lose his cool.

He slammed open the door, the knot of worry in his stomach growing tighter as the frigid temperature of the room hit him, and went straight around to Arthur's cot nook. He gasped at what he saw.

The Englishman was lying on his side -- half-covered by a thin, cotton blanket -- hair, skin, pajamas, and sheets all soaked in sweat. He face was completely drained of color in some places, searing red in others, and he was shivering violently.

“Oh my god. Arthur...” Alfred was shaking himself as he approached the cot. “Jesus. Shit.” He delicately peeled back the bangs that were plastered to the Englishman's forehead, placed his hand against it, and cursed again. “Fuck. Fuck.” He sucked in a shaky breath and tried to get a hold of the paralyzing panic that was gripped him. “Artie... Artie, can you hear me?” He stroked the Englishman's cheek, trying to get a response out of him, finally resorted to gentle shaking, but the smaller man only lolled about semi-consciously.

“Artie, please wake up. Please wake up, Artie. Arthur, please.” Alfred's voice was cracking, and tears were streaming freely down his face. He had done enough clinicals to know that Arthur's fever was approaching, if not already at, critical levels. And he knew what he had to do.

“Okay. Okay. It's gonna be okay, Artie. I'm gonna take you to the hospital, okay? You're gonna be fine though. You're gonna be just fine...” Alfred spoke in a soothing voice, more to calm himself down than anything, and got to work – carefully de-tangling the useless blanket from around the Englishman's shivering frame, and wrapping the smaller man instead with a thicker quilt that he found discarded on the floor. He placed the loafer-style slippers he found at the foot of the bed on the Brit's feet, as well as socks he found in an open suitcase nearby. Finally, he took off his own leather bomber jacket, and – propping the Englishman up- wrapped that around the sick man as well. Upon being moved, Arthur uttered a small, strangled groan, which filled Alfred with a mix of dread and relief.

“I know, Artie, I know. It's gonna be all right, I promise. Okay, here we go...” He lifted the Englishman with relative ease, not because Arthur was particularly scrawny or anything, (although he had lost a few pounds in the past month, Alfred had noticed), mostly because Alfred never really had a problem lifting heavy things. He liked to think of it as a kind of super power, though that was about the farthest thing from his mind at that particular moment.

Arthur shivered in his arms and coughed weakly, letting out a tiny, unconscious whimper. Alfred took a moment to adjust his grip, then headed out of the freezing room, back down the stairs, carefully stepping over the inebriated Scotsman in the process.

“Eyyy, way a min', Wh'r y' goin'?” the auburn-haired man slurred heavily.

“I'm bringing your brother to the emergency room. No thanks to you, asshole,” Alfred shot back angrily over his shoulder, refusing to give the Scot even another second of his time. He left, shifting Arthur to open and close the door behind him, and made his way to his truck.

“''tCHsh! … h'tCHsh!” Alfred felt the spray of Arthur's semi-conscious sneezes against his neck as he opened the passenger door and prepared to buckle the Englishman in. He frowned – even Arthur's sneezes sounded weak right now. “Bless you,” he murmured as he fastened the Brit's seat belt, pausing only to wipe some of the spray away from beneath Arthur's raw-red nose with the edge of the quilt, and brush the damp hair from the sick man's eyes one last time, before closing the door, going around to the driver's side and starting up the engine. He tried desperately to quell the fear was building steadily upon itself, but despite Alfred's forced self-assurances, he could really only be sure of one thing: it was going to be a long, long night.

~o~

(PS: Belgium is going to be making an appearance in the next chapter. Does anyone have any preferences or suggestions for a human name for her? Thanks, and thanks for reading! <3 meep)

Edited June 14, 2014 by meepsy

[Hibiscus]

Oh my god. Thanks for the warning, that was intense.

I can't wait until the next part!

Edited June 14, 2014 by Mento

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Oh my...I do hope Arthur recieves better treatment...

[FairyDust]

This is so amazing! I love your AU, and the characterisation is gorgeous.

[squealofapproval]

Lordy, lordy, LORDY! yum yum! Love the caring, sweet Alfred!

[Not_Telling]

[meepsy]

Hey guys, back with the next part! I chose the name 'Nina' for Belgium because it was in the top 100 Belgian girl's names, and I thought it suited her pretty well. Also, I don't really know how emergency rooms work, so apologies if there are any inaccuracies!

Thanks for reading, your comments really make my day!

~o~

Part Seven

Alfred walked through the sliding doors of the hospital's E.R. with so much frantic determination that he nearly collided with one of the nurses passing by.

“Excuse me, sir. Oh!” the blond nurse's eyes widened with recognition. “Alfred! What are you doing here? I didn't think you had clinical for another two weeks.”

“Hey, Nina! Sorry!” Alfred greeted hastily. “Yeah, no, that's right. I'm actually here because I have a friend in my truck who's really sick.. He left early from work today with what I thought was just a bad cold, but now it's progressed to a high fever, and he's unresponsive and probably dehydrated also, and I wasn't sure if I should-”

“Okay, Alfred, stop. Take a breath.” the blond nurse interrupted firmly. “You said he was in your truck, right?” Alfred nodded.

“Okay. Go back out there with him. I'll get a stretcher ready.”

Alfred sucked in a shaky breath. “O-okay. Thank you so much, Nina.” He exited the hospital and went back to the spot of the loading zone where he'd parked his truck, and – making sure not open the door too much and let out all the hot air – climbed into the driver's seat.

“Just hold on a little longer, okay Art?” Alfred murmured, reaching over to card his hand through the Englishman's damp hair. The smaller man hummed weakly at the touch, and Alfred's heart soared. The overwhelming need to hold Arthur, caress him, make him feel safe and secure, was as startling to Alfred as it was powerful. He was spared from confronting it, however, as he spotted Nina and a taller male nurse he didn't know heading toward them with a gurney.

He quickly scrambled back out of the truck to help assist them in moving Arthur safely to the stretcher. Once the Englishman was secured, (Alfred hated looking at him on that thing), the two nurses wheeled the bed back into the lobby, Alfred following anxiously behind.

“Okay, Alfred,” Nina said as she came back from guiding the stretcher into the depths of the E.R. “We've got him in one of the beds and I have Ned taking his temperature right now.” Alfred allowed himself a small sigh of relief, but no more.

“Hey, listen, Nina,” he began, “I know I don't have my scrubs with me, but is there, you know, anything I can do to help? Like at all?” The blond nurse gave him a look that clearly said “Come on, you know better”, but her face shortly softened in sympathy.

“You can help by filling out his paperwork," she replied. "I know you probably won't know everything, but just do the best you can, okay?” Alfred nodded, accepting the stack of papers obediently. The blond nurse regarded him a beat longer, then gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Hey, don't sweat it. He'll be fine.”

Alfred smiled his thanks, but her words did little to comfort him. He took a seat and tried to concentrate on filling out the various forms, but visions of flushed cheeks and eyes bruised with exhaustion kept playing though his mind, making it impossible to think about anything else.

…

...

...

“Alfred. ...Alfred. Wake up, hun,”

“Hm?” Alfred awoke groggily and pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes, failing to stifle an enormous yawn. He'd apparently fallen asleep somehow, which really wasn't so unbelievable considering the fact that it was probably three in the morning by now...

The reason he was there hit him suddenly, like a bucket of cold water.

“Nina!” he looked up at blond girl standing over him, and scrambled to get up. “How is he? Is he okay?”

Nina sighed. “He's awake and stable, but he's still running a pretty high fever, I'm afraid,” She motioned for him to walk along side her down the corridor that held the E.R. beds.

“You were right about the cold,” she continued, “but it seems he's also contracted a case of bronchitis and a sinus infection to go along with it. We've got him re-hydrated, and I've had a prescription for some antibiotics prepared -- I'm just waiting for it to be filled now.” She stopped him. “Listen, Alfred. Normally my instinct would be to keep him here the night, to be on the safe side, but as a non citizen, I'm guessing he doesn't have much in the way of insurance?”

Alfred bit his lip. “Yeah, that's probably a pretty safe bet,” he agreed.

The blond nurse nodded, “In that case, I'd like to try and keep his expenses as low as possible.” She gave him a stern look. “I'll allow him to be discharged, only on the condition that he be monitored periodically throughout the night by someone trustworthy, just in case his fever decides to spike again.”

Alfred nodded soberly. “You have my 100% guarantee, Nina. Thank so, so much, you can't possibly know how grateful I am to you right now.”

The blond smiled warmly. “I think I have an idea.” She nodded to a curtained bed up ahead. “He's right in there, if you'd like to go and tell him the news. I'll have the medicine waiting for you at the front desk.” She bid him goodbye and retraced her steps down the corridor back into the lobby.

Alfred took a deep breath, then headed for the bed she had pointed to, and drew back the curtains enough to peek inside.

Arthur was lying on the bed – the head of it raised, propping him up a bit – looking pale and worn, but miles away from what he'd looked like before. Alfred felt relief wash over him like a warm shower.

“Heey, Artie,” he greeted gently. His heart fluttered to see recognition in the Englishman's bloodshot eyes, even if it was mixed with exhaustion, “How'r you feelin'?” Arthur took a breath to answer, but it resulted in a fit of harsh, chesty coughs.

Alfred winced. “That good, huh?” he joked, and the Englishman groaned miserably in reply.

“I feel dreadful. My head is splidttingg, I cand't breathe, and I cand't stobp... I cand't.... huhh... hg'TGXTch! ...H'GTCHUu! ...G'TCHsh! ...'TCHshu! …hh ...huhhh ...huh'GXTCHshu! ...mmnghh...” He sniffled gurglingly, and coughed, sinking back into the thin, starched pillow.

“Bless you,” Alfred said, looking around hopelessly for some tissues to offer him. “Yeah, um, I heard you've got a little bit of a trifecta goin' on there. Hang on...” He left, returning with a box of tissues he's grabbed from a triage room nearby, and offered them to Arthur, who grabbed a hand full, blew his nose weakly, and sighed.

“I'mb so sorry, aboudt this, Alfred. Really. I dond't even kndow whadt to say...” His voice crackled with hoarseness, and was filled with such congestion that it was a miracle Alfred could understand him at all. He felt once more the pull to touch the Brit, comfort him -- so strong it was driving him crazy.

“You don't have to say anything, Arts. I'm just glad you're okay. Your brother's kind of a huge dick, by the way.”

Arthur sniffled in concurrence. “Yeah, he cand be a righdt bloody tosser sombtimbes...” he closed his eyes and cleared his throat gingerly, before giving way to a few more coughs.

“Sooo here's the thing, Art. They're gonna let you go home tonight, but I promised that I would keep an eye on you, so I'm gonna bring you to sleep over at my place tonight, okay?”

The Englishman grew flustered. “Thadt really isnd't ndecessary, Alfred. I'mb sure I'll be perfegtly find on mby own-”

“Artie, please,” Alfred interrupted with a smirk. “Save the British gentleman routine for a night you don't end up in the emergency room.” He backpedaled hastily when he saw the slight abashed look in the smaller man's face.

“I don't mind, really. Actually, I'd welcome the company. Having an apartment to myself after living with a twin brother for basically my entire life is kind of really freaky, to be honest.”

Arthur appraised him with guarded reserve for a moment, then sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Gidt,” he muttered. Alfred grinned. That was the Arthur he knew and loved (or, not loved, really, but... never mind.)

“Right, so, guess we should head on out then. Are you, uh, okay to walk?” Arthur glared as much as he had energy for.

“Of cgourse I cand bloody walkg,” the Englishman replied, lifting himself up. He braced himself against the frame of the bed, and took a careful step, but his legs gave out and he began to collapse.

“Shit,” Alfred muttered, and rushed to assist the Brit, catching him before he crumpled to the floor completely. Arthur clung to him and shuddered in his arms, letting out a small gasping cry of frustration, which turned into coughs. Alfred rubbed his back soothingly and spoke soft into his ear.

“Artie, you're sick. You need to take it easy. Just relax, okay?” He smiled into the Englishman's hair. “I won't tell if you won't.”

Arthur sunk his head into the American's shoulder, letting out a long, shivering sigh. He hated how weak and utterly helpless he felt, but he was so tired, and Alfred's arms felt so nice around him. He gave up whatever battles he was trying to fight, and just let himself be held.

Alfred gathered the Englishman in his arms and lifted himself up to a standing position. Arthur was shivering lightly now, in waves, as though a chill kept running through him every few seconds or so, and though it concerned Alfred, he suspected it had more to do with the Englishman's conceding to defeat than another potential fever spike.

He looked around, making sure he wasn't forgetting anything, before pulling back the curtains and stepping out into the corridor.

“Okay, Arts,” he said softly, stomach tingling a bit as he felt the Englishman huddle closer against him. “Let's go home.”

~o~