#Better Left Unsolved (UsUk) #
I just wanted to write something different. And IGGY. ;D He's hot as fuck. Dayum, dat ass is nice. Except Spain's is better. *daydreams about punk Spain* I may have a weakness for punks, I admit, even if I do love the gentleman too, the punk is the one I go for the most. **secretly a punk myself
I think the people who don't know me properly would die of a haemorrhage if they knew about my questionable tastes.
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-heyyy babe u done with work yet?-
-Sent at 8:46pm, Sunday
"Hey, Francey Pants, where's Artie? We were supposed to meet up after his meeting and stuff..."
Pitying dark blue eyes studied him for a moment, and Francis smirked behind one perfectly manicured hand. Alfred grinned at him, trying not to show his unease at that smirk as he scratched the back of his head. He'd showed up around the time Arthur should have been let out of the meeting, but he had yet to actually see his boyfriend of... a hella long time. They'd been together for a while now, once they'd gotten over the old man's misconceptions that he was a 'father figure.' Francis sidestepped him the moment he saw Matthew leaning against his car, waiting silently, but he turned back to make one last comment, his eyes alight with a playful look.
-artie francys being weird-
-Sent at 8:54pm, Sunday
"He's at a club, cher. It's one of those weeks, you see."
"What? Dude, what do you-"
Alfred broke off as Francis slid a hand up his Canadian brother's Scott Pilgrim vs. The World shirt and began making out with him. He put his hands up defensively and laughed nervously. He didn't want to see that! That shirt was beautiful; why did it have to be subjected to such perversion, it was horrible. Although it did have Wallace Wells on the front, so it was slightly ironic. He grimaced slightly and headed for his own car, mulling over what the frog had been saying before he'd decided to start sucking face in public.
-artie u at literatchoor club?-
-Sent at 8:58pm, Sunday
Arthur had gone to a club...? Like a book club, Alfred supposed with a smirk. It couldn't possibly be the same kind of club normal people talked about, surely. Maybe he'd gone somewhere to talk about his imaginary friends with other people...people with weed...oh shit. What if he was somewhere and he was in danger? Where was he? Alfred needed to know now, like now. What if Artie needed a hero to save his stuffy ass? He slid into the driver's seat and struggled to pull his mobile phone out of his jeans, sliding the unlock open as he began frantically texting his boyfriend. Again.
-Artie where r u pls reply-
-Sent at 9:00pm, Sunday
He sat there for about ten minutes, staring at the screen imploringly until it went dark, and then he simply unlocked it again and began his watch all over again. The time ticked by, and Alfred felt his slight unease grow into worry. It wasn't like Arthur checked his phone often, but still, he should be able to tell Alfred was worried! Alfred tapped his phone again, and a small chime emitted from it. A text! He opened it hurriedly, reading the message. Actually, it wasn't even a message. It was just...just an address. What the hell?! He sent back a text.
-u want me to pick u up?-
-Sent at 9:21pm, Sunday
This time there was no reply, as had been the same with all of the rest, and Alfred felt himself frown. How was a hero supposed to do anything when the damsel wasn't being cooperative, like, at all? Damsels in distress were supposed to be helpful, and easy to track down. He started up the car, keying the location he'd been sent into his GPS as he remembered what Francis had said to him. What exactly had the Frenchy meant by 'it's one of those weeks'? What were these 'weeks' he spoke of? He hit his sneakers on the gas as he drove, getting increasingly uneasy with this whole setup. What if someone wanted to fight him, and they'd used his boyfriend (not to mention the personification if the United Kingdom) as bait for it? What if Ludwig wanted revenge for all those times they'd kidnapped his little boyfriend? That was a terrible, villainous deed and he would not stand for it! Poor, innocent Artie!
-coming 2 save u babe! ;D-
-Sent at 9:27pm, Sunday
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Arthur Kirkland leaned back on the bar he was standing by, tipping his head back to swallow the scotch he had. The movement lit up the piercings on his nose, lip and ears, leaving wonder for where else he might have piercings as well. His normally messy hair was spiked up even more, into a tangled and wild mass of gold spikes. His clothes didn't leave much to the imagination; the jeans on his slender waist were almost uncomfortable-looking in their tightness and belts and chains covered the outfit. Disinterested green eyes rimmed with dark eyeliner scanned the room, and idly he wondered if his little American toy would show up. He'd be completely out of place if he did.
A smirk curled his lips as he gave Gilbert a short, mocking wave as the Prussian walked past with an Italian brother hanging off of each arm. Feliciano waved back and Arthur was slightly amazed at how suitable the twins looked in their mafia outfits. He wished sometimes he could sucker Alfred into this, but he was sceptical that the other would adhere to his will. He glanced down at his phone, which had been going off every five minutes. Yet another message. Was Alfred not coming to see him...?
-y r u here? where abouts? the bookstore across the road?-
-Sent at 9:39pm, Sunday
Arthur smirked.
Clearly Francis had not deigned to tell him about Arthur's rather strange mood swings.
Oh well. It would turn out well for the Brit himself, at least.