Arthur's POV

Day 18 began miserably. I woke up with dried tears on my face, stiffening the skin and making me uncomfortable, so I took a shower. I'd forgotten to do laundry the day before, so I didn't have a clean towel, and the shirt I'd been planning to wear was wrinkled. When I'd tried to make tea, my hand shook and I'd spilled boiling water on my hand. After that, I didn't even try to make the scones I'd been planning.

Those accursed Dr. Peppers were still in the refrigerator, taking up space, but I couldn't bear to remove them. The same could be said for the New York sweatshirt, the Red Sox baseball cap, the Queen CD, and a Superman comic book, all of which he'd left somewhere in my house for me to find and despair over.

When I'd gone to the supermarket on Day 13, I'd found the pictures of Alfred and I in my wallet. I moved them behind my library card and a half-used gift card, but I didn't want to take them out.

With each day that went by, I found myself losing more and more respect for myself as a person. Curiously, that didn't matter to me much after Day 8, though. I found myself nearly consumed with thoughts of Alfred, and nearly every happy moment we'd spent together. I felt ridiculous now, sitting at home and doing nothing. But would Alfred pick up my phone calls? Would he answer if I knocked on his apartment door? Would he agree to see me if I managed to get in touch with him at all? I was afraid to be rejected. And I would definitely deserve it if he did reject me, but I still feared the pain.

Once I'd cleaned up the mess I'd made with my tea, I sat down in front of the television to watch the mid-morning nonsense they had on the news. It was never pressing stuff unless there had been a natural disaster or multiple tragedies, but sometimes the seemingly meaningless stories held some interest, too.

I flipped to the right channel and waited out a commercial. The head news anchor for the channel, Elizaveta Hédévary, sat at the news desk, and she straightened out a thin stack of papers, then focused on the camera with a smile.

"Our next story is something a little more pleasant," she said, "but also confounding. One table at a local café has been occupied for eighteen days - by the same person, all the time. Our own new local correspondant, Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo, has the story."

A Hispanic man with handsome features and messy hair appeared on the screen, looking excited beyond belief, but also a little nervous.

"Hola! This morning I got to talk with a man who can teach us all a little something about love and dedication. Señor Alfred Jones has sat at the same table at the local cafe The Corner for eighteen days straight." The camera moved aside so you could see the table Antonio stood next to, as well as the man occupying it. "Sr. Jones, can you tell us why you've been sitting here for so long?"

"Alfred?" I gasped, my eyes widening, as his face appeared on the screen. He looked tired and sad, and I couldn't stand the look in his eyes that I could read even through the television screen.

"Uh, heh, well..." Alfred began nervously. "There's someone I'm waiting for." He looked down, away from the camera, looking embarrassed. "They don't want to talk to me right now, but if they ever do, well, they'll know where to find me."

"At The Corner," Antonio verified.

"Yes," Alfred nodded.

"This person must be very special for you to spend eighteen days in the café owned by your brother." The camera swiveled and got a shot of Matthew, looking awkward, and raising one hand in greeting towards London.

"Yeah, he is," confirmed Alfred, and the camera went back to him. "He really is."

"How are you managing to live here?" asked Antonio, sounding genuinely curious.

Alfred gave a half-smile, but one that didn't touch his eyes. "I'm doing what I've gotta do. He'll expect to find me here, so I'll stay here."

"Seems like an awful lot to do," Antonio commented bemusedly.

"I guess so, yeah," chuckled Alfred, still not looking at the camera. "But I'll do whatever it takes. Because...'cause..." Alfred looked straight at the camera, and my heart skipped a beat as his eyes stared right into mine, those passionate blue irises taking my breath away like they'd done so many times before. "Because I love him. I love him with all my heart."

My breath caught. Then I gasped. Then I choked on air. Did he just say what I thought he just said?

"He's the most amazing person in the world, and I hope he knows that."

I'm sure Antonio spoke after that, but I didn't hear anything he said. The minute Alfred was done talking, I was slipping on my shoes and running out the door. I was ridiculous. But was it more ridiculous to go and find Alfred when he'd just said on live television that he loved me with all his heart than to sit at home and pine after him? No.

I didn't try to catch a taxi, but the café was only about ten minutes away, and I sprinted down the sidewalks, avoiding people and pedestrian obstacles how Alfred wished he could play those driving videogames (in which he usually killed people and caused millions of dollars of damage, according to the game). My feet pounded on the pavement, not taking me fast enough to my destination.

Finally, The Corner was in sight. I sped up somehow, and vaulted through the doors. When I got inside, Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo's camera crew was packing up, and a couple of men pushed past me to load up in the van parked outside, in a hurry to leave. I saw Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo himself, shaking hands with Matthew and then leaving himself, not noticing me.

Matthew turned and went into the kitchen, saying something I couldn't make out to Feliciano. I turned and looked at the table by the door. There he was.

I saw the back of his blonde head, and the rogue curl that stuck up in the front. I heard him sigh, and slump his shoulders. My heart beating insanely, but my breath surprisingly calm, I took one step forward, then two, then three, leading me slowly towards Alfred.

Finally, I was close enough to touch him. I reached out a hand and tapped him twice on his shoulder.

"Yes, I was on the news," said Alfred without turning around, sounding bored. "No, I don't want your money, and no, I'm not doing any more interviews. Thank you and good day."

I swallowed. "Er...Alfred?"

Alfred stiffened. Then he slowly turned to face me in his seat. "Arthur..." he breathed.

I tried to think of something to say. "You...er, you really didn't move, did you?"

"Well, I bathed," he said breathlessly. "I did technically move."

"But you stayed here," I clarified. "You didn't leave."

"Of course not," Alfred continued softly. "You knew how to find me here."

I nodded. "Yes."

"So, why are you...here?" Alfred gulped.

"I...saw you on the news," I confessed. "I suppose you finally got your television appearance."

"It was dramatic, huh?" he joked, looking somehow completely serious. "I could write my own soaps."

I chuckled. "If you wanted to."

"So...?" Alfred prompted, the quietest I'd ever heard him.

I didn't answer for a minute. I just stared at him, studying every detail of his face, and how his eyes and glasses shone in the mixture of natural and fluorescent light. Then I managed, "I - I love you too, Alfred."

Alfred didn't seem to comprehend for a moment, then he grinned and lunged at me, pulling my face down to his and kissing me, fairly unsuccessfully due to the size of his smile. I finally stepped back a little, but he kept a hold of my face, rubbing my cheek with his thumb.

"We can work on fighting more...diplomatically," I began. "And choosing our battles wisely in the first place."

"And knowing when to stop," Alfred added, looking nothing but apologetic.

"Exactly."

"I'm so sorry," Alfred whispered. "So, so, so, so, so sorry, Arthur. I'm so sorry..."

"I am, too," I whispered back, and held his hand to my cheek. "So sorry. But if this...experience has taught me anything, it's that...there's real love here." Alfred nodded, and I repeated, "I love you."

"I love you too," Alfred immediately responded, smiling again.

Then I smiled. "Let's go home."

"Yours or mine?" Alfred asked.

"How about we call it...ours..." I suggested a little shyly.

"Ours?" Alfred asked, oblivious. Then realization dawned on his face. "Oh...! Artie, are...are you asking me to move in with you? Like, into your place?"

"Well, your Dr. Pepper is already there, isn't it?" I joked, trying to cover up my self-consciousness.

I'd never seen Alfred look happier, and I managed to grin as well, though I didn't want to share too much emotion in public. I didn't want to end up a blubbering mess in the middle of The Corner.

Alfred laughed. "Yeah! Let's go home!" He took my hand and stood up, getting out of the booth. "Hey! Bro! Mattie!"

Matthew came out of the kitchen. "Yes, Alfred, what is- Oh, Arthur!" Matthew looked shocked, but smiled after a moment. "Does this mean...?"

"Yep, they kissed and made up!" Feliciano reported, and I wasn't sure I remembered him ever coming out of the kitchen. "Now they're moving in together."

Matthew looked honestly overjoyed, and he came around the corner to hug Alfred. "That's great! I'm so happy for you two," he congratulated us.

"Thank you," I responded with a smile.

"Yeah, thanks, bro! And, you know, for letting me stay in your café for eighteen days," Alfred smiled sheepishly.

"Of course," Matthew responded tenderly.

With a few more temporary goodbyes, a promise that we would come back in soon, I took Alfred's hand, a little nervously, and we turned to leave. With a smile at my hero, we walked through the front door of The Corner.

Because one day, I'd woken up, and realized I'd missed Alfred. And I'd honestly wondered where on this earth he could be. But when I'd had to look for him, I knew where he'd be: waiting for me, at The Corner. And the proof that Alfred loved me was in the fact that he really hadn't moved.

A/N: Well, that's the end of this. It was meant to me just a quick song-fic (The Man Who Can't Be Moved by The Script, of course), but it somehow turned into this. Even if it's only three chapters, it's still much longer than originally intended. XD I hope you liked it, and thank you everyone for your wonderful comments and criticism, and for favoriting the story and adding me, and so on. Thank you so much!

I own nothing in this fic (not even really the plot this time!).