A/N: Please don't be overwhelmed by the size. It's an easy read when you get into it because it comes in chunks. A two-part series about the total suckiness it must be to be stuck in a hospital bed. But you never know what kind of interesting people you could meet.

Lots of loveliness and angst ahead.

Enjoy.

June 22

A persistent ticking hummed out into the air in gradual taps, light vibrations tickling at a young man's ears with growing annoyance. The blonde furrowed his brow and stared at the clock watching the second hand dance around the numbers in a smooth promenade. He lightly gripped at the sheets below him as the boredom he was harboring began to grow steadily with each passing tick. A small sigh slipped through his lips gaining an irritated glance from a man across the room.

"Will you shut up with that? You've been doing that for nearly two hours. It's getting on my nerves."

Alfred scowled at his roommate with barely retained immaturity. Purposefully this time, just to get on the sandy-blonde's nerves, he sighed over-dramatically with a loud whine mixed in. He received a glare in response.

"Oh, that's really mature. You're the epitome of perfect American manners," growled the uptight Briton. He really did hate this country even if his job had transferred him with good intentions, and being stuck in here with an idiot for a bed partner wasn't helping his situation. He attempted to kick his foot restlessly under the covers, hating the bedsores that were forming.

"I'm just breathing. I don't see a law against that," Alfred shot back. "Besides, if you hate America so much then don't live here. Don't get on my case just because you can't have your afternoon tea."

The green-eyed man bristled instantly. "That is a British stereotype, you moronic baboon of a man!"

"Hey," Alfred protested with a small frown. "I'm not a baboon."

"Pardon me. I meant a garbage disposal. I've only been here a week and I'm simply repulsed. The things you put into your mouth…"

"I think you have me mistaken with your mom."

The eruption from the skinny gentleman wasn't unexpected. "Why you – That's inexcusable! I've never met such an insufferable person!"

"That makes two of us –"

"SHUT UP!"

Both males froze immediately, eyes shooting from each other to a nurse in the doorway. The scowl on her face and edginess of her sharp eyes sent chills down both of their spines. She placed a hand on her hip and pointed at the Englishman with a fixed look. "How many times do I have to come in here and tell you to be quiet, Arthur, until you actually do it? I can hear your voice three wards away. Stop screaming or I'm getting you a muzzle." Said man opened his mouth for an angry retort before she continued, this time pointing at Alfred. "And you. I don't know what you keep doing to make him angry but you better stop. I can't keep coming in here to break you two up."

Alfred settled back into his pillows and folded his arms. He leaned over and motioned with his neck stiffly to the bed no more than ten feet next to him. "He started it," he grumbled. Arthur looked exasperated, his lips peeling back in a thin sneer.

"I started it? I'm not the one breathing like I just walked up thirty flights of stairs," Arthur growled. It seemed that every little thing Alfred did, he did to annoy him. That didn't sit well with Arthur. Not one God damn bit.

At his statement the nurse loosened up quite a bit. With a few short strides she was at Alfred's bed, a slim hand skimming under his bangs and gliding up his forehead. "Are you having chest pains again?" she asked seriously. Alfred groaned, hating being fretted over, before pushing her hand away.

"I'm fine. I was just sighing and he had to get all bent out of shape."

Arthur frowned.

"Are you sure? You aren't just trying to get out of doing those exercises and medication, are you?" the nurse asked skeptically and narrowed her eyes. It wouldn't be the first time since Alfred's stay that he'd been completely uncooperative.

"Yes. Cross my heart and hope to die," he reassured with a quick thumbs up. The nurse didn't appreciate the remark what with where they were and all. Hospitals were a grim place with no use for jokes such as those.

"Well if that's the case then I'll be back in here in an hour to give you your medicine." Making her way towards the door the woman stopped. "And I mean it Arthur. Keep your voice down." Arthur watched angrily as the attendant left the room before abruptly giving her the one finger salute. He settled back into his mattress hating the way it felt on his back. The sheets were itchy and the mattress was stiff and his legs felt like they were bruised down to his very bones.

The room drifted back into silence, the only noise barely heard being the ticking of the clock. No more than three minutes passed since the nurse's departure, and Arthur shutting his eyes trying to relax his muscles, did another soft sigh fill the air. Arthur's eyes opened slowly before fixating themselves on the wall in front of him.

"Now you're doing that on purpose."

Alfred whined and kicked his covers off with a few clumsy attempts. "I'm bored."

"You're bored every day," Arthur countered, wishing he'd injured his ears as opposed to his spine. At least that way he could escape the constant jabber the young blonde emitted every second of every day.

"And that clock's driving me crazy."

"You're driving me crazy."

Alfred pouted and ignored that last comment. Swinging his legs briskly over the side of the bed, he pattered across the room to where a large square hung above the arch of the door. Arthur's eyes followed him as he plucked the object from the wall and slowly made his way back to his bed, pale hospital pants swishing whenever Alfred's thighs rubbed together.

Plopping down, Alfred crossed his legs and set the small, red square in his lap. He started to experimentally fiddle with it to see where the batteries were placed. Long fingers dug sharply into the back corner and Alfred stuck his tongue out, face scrunched up in concentration.

"You're going to break it," the Briton muttered to himself, attempting to seem uninterested but sparing quick glances from the corners of his eyes.

The plastic of the clock started to groan in protest the more Alfred applied pressure to it. He tightly gripped the other side with his other hand trying to get better leverage. This damned clock needed to cooperate or he was going to end up doing something he regretted. Like throw it out the window.

"It's cracking." Another protest, this time voiced a bit louder. Arthur sat up, his body shifting as best he could with minimal mobility to get a better look. He could tell something bad was going to happen. It was like a cloud of ash spewing from a volcano as a silent warning to what bigger was to come.

Another creak, this time a pale, pink line coating the outer edges of the corner that was being forced open.

"It's cracking, I said." Arthur rolled his eyes with an indignant sigh. "You're going to break it. Give it here."

"I got it."

"Apparently not. You're going to– stop. You're breaking it– it's breaking–"

"Would you be quiet a sec?" Alfred huffed, and with one final tug, the clock shattered, small pieces of plastic littering around his knees. The sound made both of them jump when the back was torn from the clock, the second hand stopping as if frozen in time.

Alfred blinked down in surprise at what used to be a loud clock before looking over towards Arthur. He was glaring. With another strained shift, the Briton turned back towards the wall he had been looking at and frowned apathetically, his interest now lost. "I told you you were going to break it."

Immediately glancing around, Alfred scooped up all the pieces he could before leaning over the side of his bed and tossing it under the sheets. He quickly shot back up, pulled his covers up to his chest and lay back against his bed.

Arthur shut his eyes and shook his head. Stupid American, he should have listened.

For once the room was completely silent, the sound of the clock killed by two pairs of hands safely tucked under the stale hospital sheets. To Arthur, he relished it. He was able to shut his eyes and just relax. It was hard to relax in a hospital, knowing constantly in the back of your mind that there was something wrong with you, something that was hurting you, but without noise, the task seemed to be easier. For Alfred, it was actually worse than the ticking of the clock. At least with the clock he had something to focus on. Now his mind drifted everywhere, including the muddy corners he wished to never dwell on. He supposed that saying was correct; the one about not appreciating what you have till it's gone and stuff.

He fidgeted under his blankets and stared out the window. The sky was bright and the trees were a vibrant shade of green that was almost taunting. They were practically singing for goodness sake! Alfred mentally groaned feeling unhappy that he was being left out on all the fun that was going on out there because he was trapped in this dingy, sterile room. This dingy, sterile room with Captain Buzz kill over there sucking any potential excitement from the air with his big, fat eyebrows.

"What would you be doing right now?" he found himself asking in mild curiosity, blue eyes still staring longingly towards the window. Arthur remained quiet before opening his eyes and exhaling.

"Trying to relax," Arthur replied with a slight edge to his tone.

"I mean outside. What would you be doing if you weren't stuck in here?" Alfred asked and turned expectantly towards his companion. Arthur didn't even so much as glance at him.

"There's no point dwelling on that. I can't do it, so might as well not burden myself with those kinds of thoughts." It was the truth. He wouldn't be getting out of here for heaven knew how long. Thinking about the meeting he would be in or his dog he could be petting was pointless. It would only bring about pessimistic thoughts with how he couldn't be doing that and how pathetic he must have been. He didn't need a pity party.

Alfred cradled his arms behind his head and gazed towards the ceiling. "I'd be eating an ice cream."

"How lovely," Arthur drawled out before closing his eyes again and shifting against his pillows. He slowly began to unwind and let the American quietly mull over his stupid thoughts.

"Chocolate; double scoop. It would be dripping down the side of the cone and I'd have to lick it off my fingers because the napkin would be completely useless. Since it's so hot I'd have to eat it fast so it wouldn't turn to liquid," Alfred placed his cheek in his palm until it squished. A smile pulled at his lips. "And then I'd play a game of football since the grass would be nice and cut for summer."

Arthur tried to focus on the sound of his breathing but Alfred's words seeping into his ears slightly intrigued him.

"The game would last over an hour, no one caring if their clothes were ruined with grass stains or if anyone had mud on them. It would just be fun. I'd score a touchdown the last minute of the game winning it for my team. And then I'd go home and see my brother giving me that look; the one he usually gives me when seeing me all dirty or beat up," he laughed and sighed at the thought. It had been so long since he'd played a game of football. His bones ached – no – yearned for the feeling of that pigskin is his grasp, of the feeling burning his knees as he fell onto the grass, the lightness in his chest being surrounded by friends at what they did best; hang together.

Arthur pursed his lips and stared at the wall again, looking as though torn between thoughts. Almost hesitantly he opened his mouth. "Sewing," he muttered.

Alfred turned abruptly, almost mistakenly missing Arthur's statement. "What was that?"

Arthur frowned. "Sewing. If I wasn't in here I would be sewing a patch onto my spinning wheel fabrics. It always made me calm and happy when I embroidered."

When receiving no response he curiously looked over only to regret it not a second later. Alfred's cheeks were glowing red, his hand to his mouth, and a smile so wide that it threatened to tear his face in half. Arthur scowled immediately.

"Embroidering? God, I didn't know I was bunking with a girl. You should've told me sooner so I could straighten up the place," he laughed and rustled under the covers in amusement. Arthur didn't find it humorous in the least.

He huffed and grit his teeth. "That's what I get for letting my guard down for even a moment."

For the rest of that evening, he tried his hardest to ignore the young blonde across the room. But every now and then a few snickers would reach his ears and he would clench his hands, little crescent moons forming against his palms.

June 29

"Hey. How do you suppose they get this little ball in here?"

Arthur kept his eyes fixed to his book, trying as intently as he could to focus on the sentence he'd been reading at least a dozen times. It seemed to be useless what with how much his roommate blabbered on.

"I haven't a clue," he muttered listlessly, eyes never leaving the book.

Alfred kept watching the bottle he was holding, some Japanese drink his friend Kiku had brought him during visiting hours. It tasted like Sprite but had a marble lodged in it. He rocked the bottle between his palms, eyes following the marble inside.

"They must put it in beforehand, right? Or else how would they get it in there?" Alfred thought aloud and tipped the bottle. The marble clinked but still remained caged inside the glass. His brow furrowed. "Or maybe they make the bottle and then put the marble in. Like cut a hole in the glass and slip it inside."

Arthur squinted, his eyes ghosting over three particular words again, the meaning not quite sinking in. Alfred bit his tongue and shook the bottle, a loud clanking rattling throughout the room. Arthur abruptly put his book down.

"Please desist," he ordered. Alfred looked up curiously to the older male and stared. The Briton fidgeted and propped his book back up in his lap. The binding was hard under his fingers, a musty smell emitting from the inside.

"What are you reading?" Alfred asked after a moment, setting the empty bottle beside his bed, the mystery of the marble put aside momentarily.

"Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens," Arthur answered quickly, almost mechanically.

"Sounds old."

"It is."

"Is it good?"

The book went down again. Green eyes stared annoyed into interested blue. "It would be if I could read it." Alfred tilted his head making Arthur sigh. "Stop talking."

The book went back up again. Arthur was surprised when he made it through two whole sentences before rustling reached his ears followed by a clank. He huffed and shut the book roughly, tossing it to the side and shooting the blonde a very displeased look.

"Do you have to be constantly making noise?" he asked, not really wanting nor caring about the answer. Alfred shrugged, eyes glued to his drink. "Is that really so interesting to you?" It exasperated him to no end that he was being ignored by some simpleton who was obsessed with a marble.

"It is," Alfred replied and abruptly tossed the bottle in Arthur's lap. He grinned a smile that still reached his eyes. "Tell me what you think."

"You've got to be kidding…" Arthur scoffed and nudged the bottle with his knee. The movement was soft and barely noticeable, but the marble still responded nonetheless. There was no joking in the blue orbs that were gazing at him and making his skin crawl. With a loud puff through his nostrils, Arthur gripped the bottle between his fingers.

This was absurd. Stupid, really. But despite that he did as he was told for the second time. "It's trapped," he declared. Alfred remained quiet making him turn green eyes back to the glass, wondering what it was the blonde expected to hear. "Who cares how it got in there? All that matters is that it can't get out."

"If you break the glass," Alfred suggested hopefully. Arthur pulled his lips back distastefully before tossing the bottle lethargically towards the younger boy. It skimmed the bed and clattered to the ground loudly. Arthur didn't even spare a glance as Alfred leaned over to pick it up.

Not even a scratch.

"It would take a hell of a lot to rescue that bead," he muttered.

Alfred frowned and pulled the bottle close to his chest, almost as if he was personally offended by Arthur's pessimistic answer. He glanced down at the slit keeping the marble inside. "If it was placed in through here, then it can come out through here," he declared confidently.

Arthur, without skipping a beat, "It's too narrow."

"Narrow is all it needs," Alfred chuckled quietly. The Briton shook his head and drug his fingers through his limp hair.

"Slim chance, hm? That's what you're relying on? Don't get your hopes up, chap. You're trapped just like the rest of us in this Goddamned place," Arthur said with bitterness, the sores on his calves aching. He needed to be moved again.

Alfred was quiet before he smiled taking Arthur aback. "What are you talking about? I was only referring to the marble."

Arthur stared a moment, words resting at the tip of his tongue that couldn't seem to fall. He looked scrutinous at Alfred's eyes, finding the falseness of his words there, empty shells without meaning that both of them understood so very well. He lolled his head away to keep from the sight of such an optimistic smile. Perhaps he hadn't seen that at all.

"Of course. My mistake," he murmured.

That's right. They were only talking about a marble in a bottle. That's all it was.

July 7

"Don't fight me with this, Alfred. I swear to God, you better not fight this time," a nurse warned and shoved a small paper cup with pills in his face. Arthur watched with quiet interest as he was assisted out of his bed by another orderly. He winced slightly, his hips cracking and joints aching. It was no longer a numb feeling that he felt when laying in bed; now it was a dull throb that made it feel like bone dragging on bone, stiffness and sharp pokes jabbing under his skin.

Blue eyes glittered in defiance, a small pout set evenly on Alfred's lips. He turned his head away, nose up in the air. "I don't need them."

"You don't–?" the nurse sputtered, flabbergasted. "Like hell you don't," she scoffed and made her way around the bed. In her other hand was a large inhaler, the medicine cartridge protruding out of the side like some sort of piston. "Tell me all the phlegm on your pillow is just a regular occurrence of puberty again and I won't give you water to wash these horse pills down with anymore."

"All men in my family spit when they're asleep," Alfred defended and crossed his arms matter of factly. The nurse didn't appreciate it in the slightest.

"Take your medicine."

Arthur rolled his eyes at the boy as he was placed into a wheelchair. It wasn't like he needed to be rolled around outside, but it was better than Alfred's case. He constantly fought with the staff to stop or postpone his medication every day. Because of that, he was never allowed outside as punishment. Arthur behaved and was rewarded with the opportunity to sit in the small garden outside in the courtyard. It was peaceful and didn't smell like antiseptic so he was satisfied.

"Make me."

The woman smiled humorlessly. "Don't tempt me. I'm not stupid enough to do that by myself again. You bit me last time," she said holding up her bandaged wrist. Arthur sighed. He remembered that day; she'd nearly slapped Alfred. Then again, he supposed, it would've been worth it to lose her job over such a thing. Hell, even he would do the same thing to the rebellious teenager.

Arthur shook his head. Foolish boy. Still so naïve and young.

"I promise I won't bite you again. Honest," Alfred mocked, batting his eyelashes for effect. The nurse grimaced when seeing his canines flash. Oh, she was not having this. Not today. Not on the day that her boyfriend of nearly two years broke up with her. Not on the day where she came into work smelling of fish guts because her cat vomited on her too late to change wardrobe.

Not on the day where she had found a grey hair.

Retracting her arm, the nurse frowned and narrowed her eyes, patience all but lost. "Fine," she admitted, defeated. "If you don't want to take your medicine today, go ahead. That's fine by me. But I won't give you sympathy when you're hacking up a lung tonight."

Alfred perked up at this, smile as bright as the sun upon hearing this good news. Arthur watched with a great deal of empathy for the woman as she retreated to the doorway. She paused a moment and turned to give Alfred one final stare.

"Tomorrow you are taking your pills, Alfred. And they will be suppositories if I can find some. And I will."

The woman only got a small deal of satisfaction upon seeing the horror slide onto Alfred's face before retreating down the hall. Arthur sat in his wheelchair waiting for the other nurse to come back into the room with some water and pain medication for him as he rubbed his temple.

Green eyes peered up towards Alfred who sat propped up in his bed with an indignant frown on his face, arms crossed.

"Must you be so difficult?" Arthur spoke up with slight disbelief.

Alfred blinked curiously before turning his head to watch the Briton with round, seemingly innocent eyes. "Who's being difficult? If I don't want to take that, then I shouldn't have to take it."

"Your logic is absurd. Just take your blooming medicine and you can go outside like you whine about every afternoon," Arthur suggested. Well, he really didn't care either way. But he personally didn't want to be kept up all night by spitting and coughing and wheezing. It was rather hard to sleep when you thought the person across from you was being strangled by an anaconda.

"I'm fine."

Arthur spluttered, almost laughing sarcastically towards the boy. "Yes. Yes, I suppose you're right. You must just like the smell of bedpans in the morning or the sound of a heart monitor as opposed to a radio. I can see why you would fancy such things to the point that you'd willingly stay here of your own volition. This place is quite charming if I do say so myself. Rather tip-top establishment. You have lovely taste, lad, simply lovely."

Alfred frowned slightly upon seeing the hateful smirk being cast his way. Arthur shook his head and couldn't help but feel something sharp and spiteful stirring inside of him, and this time it wasn't his screwed up bones and muscles either. He gripped the wheelchair handles and felt offhandedly angry. It was justifiable, though.

Here was a boy so stubborn and selfish, apparently uncaring of what his friends and family thought about him being cooped up in a hospital, that he refused to take medicine that could only help his condition just because he thought he 'was fine.' Bah. Fine Arthur's ass. At least Alfred could walk or roll over or even go to the fucking restroom without assistance. He had options. He could get out of here sooner rather than later.

Arthur scowled to himself and tore his eyes away from Alfred's innocent and confused stare. At least he was a marble with a small amount of hope. The top to Arthur's glass had already closed over. He was trapped in this humiliating state all because he'd forgotten to watch where he was walking for two bloody seconds.

"Hey…um, you okay?"

Arthur shot his head up and was torn out of his own self-loathing to look at Alfred who was regarding him delicately, almost concerned. Arthur felt his face heat up in mortification. Alfred shifted awkwardly. "You kinda, well, you got silent for a while and…your lip's bleeding and stuff…"

Huh? His lip? Arthur pulled his hand up to his mouth and retracted his fingers to see the foggy texture of blood against his skin. Oh. He'd bitten his lip.

"I'm quite alright," Arthur muttered quietly and stared at his lap. He didn't want to look up and risk seeing those two perceptive blue eyes. Arthur had gotten the slight feeling that Alfred wasn't as idiotic as he seemed after staying cooped up with him for nearly a month.

A nurse chose that moment to enter, not even bothering to comment on the two blonde's quiet dispositions. Arthur gratefully took the pills from the cup and swallowed them. He waited as the nurse threw the paper cups away before she grabbed the handles of his chair and started steering him towards the door.

"Enjoy the sun for me!" chimed Alfred when Arthur was almost out of earshot. He flexed his fingers over the material of his pants and shut his eyes, waiting until he could be outside at last. Outside in the courtyard he could be left alone to enjoy the breeze on his face and the sun on his skin. He could forget about the intimidating white building and the loud blonde inside. He could forget about the nursing staff constantly around when all he wanted was a damn minute of silence and peace.

He could forget about this void sending chills down his fucked up spine.

Once outside and alone at last, Arthur leaned back into his chair and simply breathed. The air out here wasn't covered with the thick sickness of pain and incapacitation. It was just air. Regular, soothing air. Blinking back the warmth from his eyes, Arthur gazed across the courtyard where his nurse sat, under the shade of the building reading a dainty little book. Other patients and visitors were scattered about conversing and laying down.

Arthur stared at a particular couple, most likely related with how similar they looked. They seemed to be arguing, however, the smaller petite Asian only looked mildly irritated from his spot at a table. He let the taller man with silk smooth hair bicker with him and managed to simply look bored and frustrated at his beverage.

Judging by his clothes, the boy was a patient at this hospital. With such a skinny and frail looking body, Arthur could tell that he most likely wasn't here by anything that could've been prevented. Then again, most patients were like that.

…Except for him.

Arthur jumped abruptly in his chair when two inky eyes glanced up at him curiously, turning his line of vision back to his nurse.

From this angle he could see his room's window up on the fifth floor. It looked much smaller than he remembered which sent something slithering down his chest. Alfred was still inside, doing God knew what he did whenever he neglected to take his meds and fought the staff. Arthur shut his eyes and let the wind blow through his fingers.

He didn't care. Whatever Alfred did on his own time wasn't any of his business. He wasn't affiliated with the boy and he didn't plan to start now.

After a long moment, Arthur was awoken by his nurse when the sun was starting to turn in for the night, the trees and buildings being painted with a rather compelling shade of orange and red. He was calmly wheeled up to his room again, sighing to himself at how quickly his free time out from the room always flew by.

When emerging through the door he was met with the familiar scene of Alfred sitting crisscrossed in his bed, blue eyes peering up at him with withdrawn intrigue. For some strange reason he was always pulling at his shirt when Arthur entered the room, only waiting until the nurses were gone and he was placed neatly back into his own bed before speaking.

It was always the same question, too.

"How was it?"

Arthur leaned back against his pillow and begrudgingly adjusted back into his old pattern of familiar sights and smells of this small hospital room. "Charming."

The same shift of the material of Alfred's pants against his sheets as he turned to watch him most likely. Arthur slowly opened his eyes, vision still on the wall.

"Oh. That's…that's good then. Was it warm?" Alfred asked curiously, a sense of watered down eagerness behind his voice.

"It is July, lad," Arthur muttered. The same responses to the same dance they twirled to twice a week.

Alfred snorted. "I know that. I'm painfully aware of that. The air conditioner has to be broken or something. It's sweltering up here!"

"I'm rather comfortable," listlessly replied Arthur.

"How can you be comfortable? It has to be at least eighty degrees in here. You could fry an egg on this floor – well, maybe not fry an egg exactly…but still. And you won't even believe who came in here right after you left! You know, to change the sheets and all. It was that one lady with the straight black hair and the long nails who I'm sure is the one who keeps stealing the jello I keep hiding under my pillow. Anywho, she came in and started to–"

"Let me cut you off right there," Arthur stopped him with the wave of his hand. Alfred shut his mouth and blinked his two large impossibly blue eyes towards the Briton. "Although what you are saying is probably interesting to someone on this continent somewhere, I personally do not wish to hear the rest of this story or why you've been hoarding snacks under your linen."

Arthur turned away once more, not even taking the time to see what kind of reaction his response invoked. It was silent a moment before Alfred scuttled from his bed causing enough movement for Arthur's attention to be grabbed. He watched befuddled as Alfred ducked his head under his bed, rummaging around before that familiar cowlick popped up abruptly. "What are you doing now?"

Alfred ignored him much to Arthur's irritation (not that he'd ever mention it) and started to take the cap off of his pen and scribble on a tiny envelope. After far too much time passed and Arthur's curiosity getting the better of him, he bit his lip and craned his neck. "Really. What is it you're doing? Where did you even get that?" asked Arthur skeptically. Didn't the nursing staff clean the room frequently? Arthur was sure he would have known if Alfred had stashed writing implements under his bed.

Alfred stuck out his tongue in concentration.

Arthur scowled. What…was he ignoring him? He felt a small growl building in his chest but turned away with a huff. Fine. He didn't have to tell him. He didn't care anyway.

Sitting in silence was the hardest thing to do, especially with Alfred scribbling away without a care in the world. The sun had already set when Alfred put down his pen and held the sheet of paper up close for inspection. He let his eyes run over it in satisfaction before grinned towards Arthur who felt cautious.

"Why are you looking at me like that, boy?"

Alfred hopped off his bed and started walking towards Arthur who squirmed, flustered. Damn his lack of mobility! He stared quite helpless up at the taller blonde who towered over him in his bed with a sense of accomplishment. Alfred leaned down to eyelevel making Arthur's stomach do a raw twist before taking the pale, tiny hand in his own and placing the paper in his palm.

"When you go outside next time, bring this so I can come too."

With that Alfred strolled back over to his bed and crawled under the sheets, holding it up to just below his eyes, fretful fidgeting returning. Arthur blinked owlishly before looking down at the paper in his hand.

There was a very crudely drawn picture of Alfred (at least…he thought it was Alfred) sitting under a tree and drinking a lemonade, something he hadn't been allowed to drink for a while because of his stubborn persistence to avoid his medication. It built up phlegm which wouldn't aide Alfred's already poor lungs.

Arthur stared at the picture for the longest time before finding his voice.

"You are an absolute moron, you know that?"

Alfred's rosy cheeks and hesitant smile fell away from his face as he gaped at the Briton staring blindly at his drawing. "Wha – why?"

Why? What a stupid question. Arthur traced the lines of Alfred's simple cartoon with his eyes before letting out a breath through his nostrils. This was obviously a moronic picture. It was so basic and simple and the gesture was inexplicably, impeccably childish yet extremely enticing. It actually made Arthur want to smile.

He didn't, though, because he didn't want any kind gesture to blow up Alfred's already annoying ego.

Instead he just kept his eyes glued to the paper, fingers flexing over it and ran his tongue over his teeth.

"Stupid…" he muttered under his breath and slowly shook his head.

What an… endearingly stupid thing to do.

"Why am I a moron?" Alfred asked, frowning now in displeasure. He still had his sheets fisted just below his collarbone making Arthur finally take notice of what he hadn't been paying attention to all along. Alfred may have looked like a somewhat grown individual but he still had a very childish way of thinking, of going about things.

Arthur ran his fingers over the picture. Although, that wasn't to say having such a way of functioning was a bad thing…

Forcing the lump down his throat, Arthur put up his regular annoyed façade and crumpled the paper in his fist. Alfred gaped, eyes widening in horrified shock. "If you want to be outside so much then do as you're told. I'm not taking this with me."

A tiny string of humor bubbled inside him at the pure outrage on the younger boy's face, the first time he'd felt this way in a long time. At least since he'd had his accident.

Alfred sputtered over his words a moment before settling on shaking his head rapidly. "You – you – I…UGH! Fine. Don't do me any favors then. But I'm not eating those nasty pills because they taste like cat piss!" With a huff, he tugged the sheets over his head and turned so his back was to Arthur.

Arthur felt his lip twitching upwards but held it down, instead deciding to shrug off the outburst and lay back himself. He silently smoothed out the crinkles of the picture and hid it under his pillow when the lights were shut off.

Every cough and wheeze he heard later in the night, he reassuringly patted the envelope.

An Alfred under the sun was much more preferred than the sick one drowning in his own mucus.

He had plentiful dreams that night, just the two of them. He had been able to carry all of the picnic supplies on his own and had sat down under a large oak tree on a hill. Alfred smiled at him with an unimaginable brightness that could rival the sun.

The blonde had drunken so much lemonade he didn't know what to do with himself.

July 31

"I met someone today."

Arthur hummed in a silent reply, a simple noncommittal action. He kept his gaze down at his book even as Alfred rocked back and forth by the window, staring out into the courtyard with fixed interest.

"Uh-huh. I saw him when I snuck out earlier. To find a better bathroom, I mean. Since our toilet's clogged and all…" Alfred said more so to himself, eyes flickering over the many heads outside, trying to put a name to a face. "His name's Lud-something."

"That's nice," commented Arthur absentmindedly as he turned his page. He had gotten accustomed to Alfred's mannerisms and speeches so long that he wasn't nearly as bothered as he used to be. He hated to think if the boy was growing on him. Heaven knew he didn't need that kind of baggage.

Arthur stopped mid-turn when Alfred coughed rather roughly into his hand. Green eyes flickered up to watch in slight fascination as Alfred's shoulders shook, body leaning forward as painfully moist coughs tore through his lungs. He paused.

That – that he was still not used to. No matter how many times it happened in a day, Arthur was still uncomfortable with the rising number of coughs consuming the blonde American.

He waited quietly until they subsided, Alfred clearing his throat and giving a sniffle before going back to his task of discerning faces of the staff, visitors, and patients.

"Yeah. He was by the bathroom washing his hands. He's not a patient here either. Said his brother's the one who's sick. Got him trapped up in the loony bin for some lacerations or somethin'," informed Alfred as he crinkled his nose. Arthur frowned. Mental psychiatric care should not be so elegantly referred to as the 'loony bin.'

Arthur ran his eyes over Alfred's back carefully before gradually turning back to his book. "You shouldn't concern yourself with something like that. It's pointless to worry over something that doesn't concern you."

Alfred blinked before craning his neck over his shoulder to get a better look at Arthur. "I'm not concernin' myself with anyone. I'm just saying I met someone whose brother is a nutcase."

A scowl. "Don't judge, Alfred. You don't know the personal lives of others that lead them to do such things." When had he started calling Alfred by his name?

Alfred seemed to ponder this for half a second before brushing it off with a shrug. "He looked really tired even though he said he was fine. I can tell he comes here a lot. Heck, even I'd be upset if I had a brother and he was as unpredictable as his. Can't be good on his brain."

"No, I surmise not," Arthur responded, silently recalling a time where he'd thought a boy identical to Alfred had visited him before. He did have a brother, didn't he?

Alfred looked back out the window with a smile, hands on the windowsill. "He said I could meet him if I wanted."

"That's wonderful," murmured Arthur before Alfred's words played on a loop in his brain, words sharp like blades. His head shot up. "…Pardon me?"

Alfred grinned. "I was thinkin' about visiting Ludburg's brother sometime."

…There was that delay again. A definite delay.

"No you aren't."

Alfred shifted back around with confused eyes. "Aren't what?"

"You aren't going to the mental ward," said Arthur matter-of-factly. He personally didn't care about the look Alfred gave him that made him feel very old and very fatherly. He did not want to feel fatherly, especially towards Alfred.

…Wait, what?

Arthur shook his head quickly and ignored that last thought. He'd been around the smell of window cleaner too long. Alfred crinkled his nose before erupting into another fit of coughs that made Arthur's skin crawl. He could feel the force from all the way on the other side of the room.

"What makes you say that?" asked Alfred after his coughs subsided. Arthur resisted the urge to cringe when he wiped his mucus stained hands on his pants.

"For starters, you're ill. That is why your family put you in the hospital, I assume. You can't go waltzing around a medical facility and spreading God knows what's ailing you. Aside from that, it's a mental ward. You should not be wandering around there under no supervision with a strange–"

"I wouldn't be alone. That Lud guy will be there with me," Alfred protested despite Arthur's frown deepening, book all but abandoned.

"That's not the point. And furthermore, you aren't supposed to be let out of this room without permission. You simply can't visit some stranger's suicidal brother."

Alfred pouted and furrowed his brows, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. Arthur didn't shake in his resolve either. He stared Alfred down, his hand sliding off the side of the bed to rest lightly on the nurse call button.

"…I can if you don't tell on me," Alfred finally said after a moment, eyes taking on a different tone; a tone that radiated how much he wanted a favor done. Arthur stilled.

"Absolutely not."

"But Arthur–"

"I am not covering for you. I can't anyway – look at me! I can't even manage to stand upright on my own for more than ten seconds. How the devil do you suppose I keep the faculty away from that door? That's absurd," argued the irritated Englishman gesturing to his legs. Alfred winced slightly at the pitchiness of his voice and how miserable he'd sounded when talking about his condition. Alfred still hadn't a clue how Arthur had practically lost all mobility, but he did have a great deal of sympathy for him. At least, until he got too mad and started screaming at the nurses and Alfred like he would kill them if able.

Alfred was fluttering over to the vehement Briton with arms waving in reassurance, Arthur cringing back when hands clasped onto his shoulders. "See, that's the beauty of it. You don't have to do anything but not press that call button," he said, hand drifting down to pull Arthur's away from the button on the side of his bed. Arthur stiffened. "I can just slip out and snag some spare scrubs lying around so no one gets suspicious and meet Lud-something or other when he arrives for visiting hours. Plus I'll be outta your hair for an hour or two. I know how much you'll love that and it'll kill two birds with one stone!"

Alfred's logic wasn't all bad but it was extremely risky. What if Alfred did get caught? Would he be scolded or sedated? Or perhaps this Lud-fellow's brother was unstable and would harm Alfred if he was spooked easily. Arthur furrowed his brow wearily, not much liking either of those outcomes no matter how much the young American deserved it. Would he be transferred rooms–

"I refuse," he snapped and smacked Alfred's hands away from him. "Now stop this nonsense and go back to your side of the room. I don't want to hear anymore of this kind of talk. If I do, I'll report you."

Alfred reeled back with a stubborn pout, unable to keep the disappointed gleam from his eyes as he sulked back over to his bed and plopped down. Arthur felt a growl building in his chest at the feeling of wanting to retract his words at Alfred's actions. Why did he have the right to act like some damned kicked puppy?

"You're such a stick in the mud," grumbled Alfred, picking at a messy fringe on his sheets.

Arthur propped his book back up in his lap without even batting an eyelash. "That's all a matter of opinion, I'm afraid."

Alfred frowned, poking his lower lip out dejectedly. "No. You're just a grumpy, old man."

Arthur frowned but tried to focus on his book.

Alfred pulled at a thread. "Who doesn't know how to have fun."

Arthur's fingers gripped the binding tighter.

"And takes his frustrations out on me."

Gritted teeth.

"And smells like the moldy books you read."

Simmering anger.

"And has the biggest eyebrows I've ever seen in my entire–"

The book slammed down. "Now, you listen here-!" Arthur erupted, sharp eyes turning to bore into the teenager across from him, ready to let Alfred have it for pestering him with something so inane and stupid, before Alfred buckled over, torso collapsing against his knees as his body shook with violent tremors. Arthur stopped, shutting his mouth immediately, when watching what looked like Alfred choking on air itself.

That guilt was back, swimming around in his abdomen as he watched Alfred's face contort with the efforts to expel some unseen amount of liquid building inside the inner casings of his lungs. As Arthur watched Alfred's coughing fit that seemed to grow in numbers each day, he bit his tongue in an unfamiliar emotion. He glanced away feebly when Alfred had calmed down, groaning at a long thread of slime and saliva dripping from his lip before snapping off.

In a mixture of disgust and empathy, Arthur clenched his fists at his side and growled.

"…Alright."

Alfred gagged and wiped his mouth with his arm before casting blue eyes towards the irritated gentleman staring at his feet. "Huh? You say something?"

Arthur sighed heavily. "I said…alright. Fine. I will not tattle on you if you so choose to see some unstable lunatic."

He instantly regretted his words when he was found in a nearly painful embrace, Alfred's arms encircling his head despite how disgusted and paranoid Arthur was to not let the mucus on the shirt touch him. "But – but!" he cried, shoving Alfred away far enough to get his point across. He didn't care how bored Alfred was in this room, or how much he wanted to meet new people but was unable to in this building. He wasn't going to do any favors without something given in return.

Alfred blinked down at him expectantly with impossibly glittery eyes that made Arthur want to gag and shy away simultaneously. "But from now on you must take your medication and inhalers every day. No fighting either."

The smile was gone, Alfred retreated away from Arthur, thwarted. "Wh-what? That's – no – why? Aw, c'mon, Arthur. You're not serious are you?"

Arthur shook his head hollowly. "As a heart attack." Another joke never to use in a hospital.

"But…it tastes like cat–"

"Oh, rubbish. It's one minute of your life and then you can finally stop waking me up at night." Arthur glanced up through half-lidded eyes at the pouting teenager. "Then again, no one is holding a gun to your head. You don't have to go with some fellow out on visiting hours to see his relative. You can simply stay in here and look out the window and count the cracks in the ceiling."

It was a very satisfying feeling to see Alfred bend to his will unknowingly. When the unhappy little "fine" was uttered from his lips, Arthur shared a silent victory when Alfred was silent the rest of the afternoon.

Although, somewhere in the back of his mind he knew the effect of this feeling was much stronger due to the fact that Alfred's coughing had lessened the next few days.

August 27

It was almost a miracle. It had to be. At least, that's what Alfred had said to him the moment the nurse had passed the news.

After countless surgeries and horribly intense bed sores, the start of physical therapy ready to rear its ugly head, Arthur could finally manage to stand up on his own without nearly going blind from pain. Now, given he could only do it for eighty nine seconds before he became breathless and had to sit down.

Still. Progress was progress and if it meant that Arthur wasn't going to be a cripple paraplegic or like that brash fellow with the cane and vicodin on the telly then he was tip-top about it.

And despite himself, he hadn't been able to keep the joviality from his voice. However, he did not grin ear to ear like he wanted to. He still had some dignity after all.

And yet, Alfred did not greet him with the broad smile he expected from the boy. He rolled himself into the room and announced the news but Alfred simply stared in what seemed like shock.

After a long moment of silence, what seemed like forever, Arthur unbeknownst to him that he had held his breath the entire time waiting for a response, Alfred put on a plastic smile. His muscles in his face lagged, shutting his eyes with the biggest smile he could muster, which was really a very sad excuse.

"That's great!" he'd said but Arthur found himself frowning, the feeling of excitement being nearly snuffed out by Alfred's lethargic demeanor.

He had bags under his eyes, and although he'd been taking his medicine like he'd promised, Alfred didn't seem to be making the progress that Arthur had thought he would. In fact, the brightness he'd emitted when first walking into the hospital room as Arthur's roommate seemed to dull.

Much like a candle, Alfred's enthusiasm was dying out with the long melting of the wick.

And no matter how hard Arthur denied it, he was starting to increasingly worry.

He blamed it on the depression that the fall weather started to bring. It was much more bearable that way.