“I’m not your friend,” Arthur snapped.
Alfred pouted, eyebrows pulled together, before he pulled a shit-eating grin, “You’re right. You’re my best friend.”
He clinked his soda bottle against Alfred’s, “To the guy with no standard who finally befriended the guy no one would every want to sleep with.” It was official, Arthur was drunk.
“Are you serious?” Alfred asked, snatching the bottle from the Brits hand and keep it at arms length from the other who so desperately tried to snatch it back, “First of all,” he threw the bottle somewhere, “I have standards. I’ve never been with an ugly woman. And the only guy I slept with wasn’t hideous either. Second of all, I’m sure there are plenty of people who would just die at the thought of having sex with you. If I was at the very least bi, I’d be one of those people dying to touch you, scouts honor.” Alfred saluted.
The drunkard snorted and flipped him off for his own benefit
Matthew sighed resolutely, “You know, I’ve known Alfred for a long time and he’s never been afraid of anything, well, until he met you.”
“He’s afraid of me?”
“He’s afraid of losing you.”
Arthur tried his hardest not to eavesdrop on Alfred’s conversation but Isabella being the nosy person she is wouldn’t have it.
“Listen,” she hissed, tearing Arthurs hands from his ears, “this is the only way you’ll find out what’s wrong with Alfred and stop this farce.”
Arthur opened his mouth to retaliate but stopped when he heard the bellowed baritone that was Alfred’s voice.
“To douche bags,” he cheered, “and to those that break your heart,” there was a brief silence before he continued, “and to the absolute fucking horror of losing your best friend because you were stupid enough to fall in love with them."
Arthur didn't say a word.
Arthur was the exception. A friend, a comrade, a bro above any hoe. The only one that was allowed to look into the inner working of the messed-up man known as Alfred F. Jones. Despite being a total dick to the man. So, no matter what others say or do, be it friends, or Alfred, or even his own feelings, he was going to keep it that way.
“I bet you one Benjamin,” Arthur tried to make the mood light, “that you’ll be thanking me when you meet your future wife—husband—err spouse, in your case now."
Alfred’s eyebrows pulled together, his mouth a thin line of contemplation. Steadily, he held out his hand towards Arthur.
Arthur looked at the hand and fisted his own, “…What, Alfred?”
“I’m waiting.” He answered.
Arthur blinked. Once. Twice, “Okay… for?”
“For the money you owe me."
“What! Why? The bet isn't over!”
“No, it is. The only person I've ever though of marrying just broke my heart. So, any thoughts of marriage are far from my mind.”