Title: And Then Did They Meet

Author: Whiskey Bloodsbane Pincher

Genre: Humour, Romance

Pairing(s): USUKUS, mentions of PruHun and Freanne

Rating: T

Summary: Arthur's soulmate is the clumsiest shit to walk the earth and he's really done with it.

Warnings: Language; awful, choppy writing.

a/n: probably the last fic i'll be writing before going on a hiatus spanning across two to three months because of school and life-changing exams. my poor uncompleted fics. ugh.
also, unbeta'd. written for usuk secret santa exchange 2015 on tumblr for aph-magicks.

AND THEN DID THEY MEET

[oneshot]

On the day Arthur Kirkland broke his leg for no apparent reason, he decided that he utterly, absolutely, positively hated his soulmate. On the contrary, his family was jubilant when they carted their youngest son off to the hospital. Arthur, at the tender age of eight, could not for the life him understand what all the fuss was about. All right, so his bloody soulmate had successfully managed to give him a sign that yes, he was alive and kicking (well, not in the literal sense – at least for a while, if the broken leg was anything to go by), and numbers counting down to their (unwanted, Arthur thought petulantly) meeting had appeared, scrawled in a neat font on his wrist, but really, he'd rather have no soulmate if it meant him being saved of what were to be numerous trips to the hospital. And when, after being unwillingly pushed into a hospital bed with his leg propped up safely, he decided to exactly state his rational opinions on the matter of mates of the soul he was met with horrified gasps on his parents' part and a particularly unpleasant thump on the back from his least favourite brother, Allistor.

"Arthur, dearest," his mother had said after a brief period of an awkward silence. "Don't be like that. You'll understand when you grow up and meet your destined. The feeling's like magic – no, even greater than magic. Nothing can compare to meeting the one you're meant to be with."

Then she'd turned to her husband with a sappy smile which was returned. This time it was his other brother, Seamus, who chose to slap the back of his head when he made gagging motions at his parents' blatant display of affection to each other.

Rubbing at his aching head with a glare at his brother, Arthur had muttered, "What a load of codswallop."

His family had just sighed, used to his obstinate nature. Maybe, they thought, maybe he'd understand in a few years. Everyone did.

They had never been so wrong.

Sixteen years hence, Arthur Kirkland remained as he was: stubborn, cynical and a general pessimistic force to be around with. Now the head editor of a well-to-do magazine, 'Round the World, and a prominent figure in the literary world, he was (or so he thought), as happy as happy could be – if you didn't count the uncountable cuts and bruises and broken bones he got due to his dearest hellion of a soulmate. He would often look at his timer (just out of curiosity, of course, it wasn't as if he was excited – such pish posh, really!) , steadily ticking away the moments to when he would meet the clumsy duffer who was apparently to be his 'better half'. The time always seemed to be far away – and he was glad it was, no matter how it felt as if he were just delaying the inevitable. He had no burning need to know who his soulmate was, what he looked like, what his food preference was, what his hobbies were or anything else for the matter of fact, unlike many of his colleagues who were near obsessive when it came to the topic of soulmates.

(But what he did care about in the darkest, deepest corner of his heart was what the hellion would think about him. He was by no means attractive and his damned eyebrows were entirely to blame, in his opinion. And of course, it was common knowledge that his personality left a lot to be desired. These unnecessary thoughts and insecurities would keep nagging him when he felt idle and he was by no means amused by the outside force which seemed intent on pushing him over the edge over this. At times like this, he would need a moment to remind himself that he was Arthur bleeding Kirkland, for fuck's sake and if any of his co-workers were telepathic, he would be in some deep, deep shit. The latter thought usually pacified him.)

All in all, Arthur felt that he was rather neutral when it came to this subject. In fact, he prided himself for it – he wasn't dimwitted enough to fall into the jaws of the soulmate fad. He was sure he'd act like a mature, respectable gentleman when his time to meet the hellion came.

He was sure. Was.

It was a rainy morning. A usual phenomenon seeing that he lived in London. He didn't realise it until he walked out of his apartment, but as soon as he did, he stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the footpath, much to chargin of fellow passer-bys. He moved his left wrist closer to his face, squinting.

00y : 00m : 0006h : 19mins : 53s

He closed his eyes. He opened them.

00y : 00m : 0006h : 19mins : 51s

He closed his eyes again. And then, he opened them.

00y : 00m : 0006h : 19mins : 48s

He let out a strangled yelp. A cold feeling pressed down upon him. Really? Really? Now? Yesterday, he had five years left. He knew time skips happened due to altered timelines, but bloody hell, why now? He was not prepared for this. He felt his umbrella slide out of his hand. Bleeding hell. Holy shit. This was not happening. Nope, nope, nope. His mind was stuck in a loop of 'shit, shit, shit's and 'kill me, strike me down, just end me's and 'oh bloody hell, bloody hell, bloody fucking hell's. Fucking hellion and his fucking god-awful timing.

"Oi, move out of the bloody way, will you?"

Arthur snatched his gaze away from his wrist and quickly moved aside, grabbing his umbrella just as it began skittering away with the breeze, before the disgruntled looking red haired man could shove him aside. He took a deep breath, trying to quell his internal mini-panic attack.

Okay, he thought, okay, so today's the day. No worries, no worries. I'm Arthur Kirkland. I can do this. I can do this.

Nodding firmly to himself, he raised his head and resumed walking. Dignity, he reminded himself, and strength. But it was hard, as he was soaking wet and his hand holding his umbrella was shaking slightly in nervous jitters. Dignity and strength, indeed.

A ride in the tube later, he was walking through the doors of his editorial HQ, slightly calmed but an awful expectant pressure on his chest. He stepped into the lift, but a converse-laden foot wedged between the doors, before they could shut. Arthur groaned inwardly when he saw exactly who the foot was attached to. He made an attempt to smile (and he managed one, although it was quite a feeble one) as Elizaveta Herdevary, the famed gossip columnist of ''Round the World', slid in beside him.

"Hello, Arthur!"

Arthur nodded curtly in reply. Elizaveta was a nice lady, but sometimes she could be quite overbearing and . . . well, violent at times, mostly when it involved a certain self-proclaimed Prussian (who was strangely, her soulmate – their strange relationship really bemused him) around. She was, as usual, dressed in a ratty pair of jeans and a band t-shirt (although she had once always worn feminine dresses before meeting her soulmate; Arthur never quite grasped as to why there was such a sudden change in her wardrobe after finding Gilbert) and her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail with a beautiful incarnation pinned to it. Arthur rather enjoyed her company most of the time. Unfortunately, this was not one of those times. His stand-off-ishness was, however, ignored by the Hungarian woman.

"So, I heard Ludwig found his soulmate! He's this really cute Italian. And guess what? I actually used to baby-sit him when he was younger! He's grown into a dashing young man, if I do say so myself. Charming, really. They – "

Arthur tuned out, humming at appropriate intervals and nodding along to whatever she was saying. He was more worried about the death clock ticking away on his wrist. He glared at the lift's roof. Why couldn't this blood thing move faster?

" – od, is that what I think it is?"

Arthur felt a hand clasping his left wrist and jerking it away from where he had been pressing his knuckles against his mouth in agitation. Shit.

"Oh, yes! Yes!" Elizaveta punched the air with her free hand. "You're meeting your soulmate today? That's wonderful, Arthur! Oh, gosh, I am so happy for you! You have to let me meet him or her! This is so cool. Five hours, Artie! Five hours!"

Arthur grunted as Elizaveta attempted to give him a hug. He patted her back awkwardly.

"Erm, yes, yes. Yay." Never had he sounded so unexcited.

Elizaveta pulled away as the lift stopped at the Arthur's floor. Arthur tried to slide out but Elizaveta caught hold of his arm and placed her foot between the doors to prevent them from shutting. He was slightly startled to see a soft smile on her face.

"You might be skeptical now, but I promise you this: it will be worth it. Trust me on this. Best of luck, Arthur."

Arthur kept staring at the closed doors of the lift, even after Elizaveta had long gone. The look on her face had been one of pure love and affection. Her love for Gilbert was immense. Beilschmidt was a lucky man, he's give him that.

But could he love someone like that? He didn't think so. He never could – he was too much of a mass of negative emotions. Heaving a sigh, he turned away from the doors and walked towards his office. He glanced at his wrist when he entered.

00y : 00m : 0005h : 30mins : 18s

He really wished that this would be worth it.

He spent the next what it felt like hours, hunched over his desk, working, writing, trying to do anything but look at the timer on his wrist. Deciding that he simply couldn't concentrate today after two hours of staring at a blank Word document, he stood up with the intention of getting a spot of tea to soothe his nerves. But before he could even move an inch, a sudden familiar pain shot up his right arm. He heard the faint sound of cracking, much to his horror. He slumped back on his chair, groaning both in pain and exasperation. It had been a record – two months without a single scratch but as they say, good things never last. Stupid, stupid hellion. Wait until they met; then, Arthur would give him a good talking to over his clumsiness and stupidity. And maybe even slug him across his face for all the years of torture he made Arthur go through.

(This made Arthur feel slightly better about meeting his soulmate. Slightly.)

He quickly punched the little emergency button connected to the receptionist's area that he'd installed on his office wall just for moments like this (it was the best decision Arthur ever made seeing as how frequently how the hellion got himself hurt). The Lithuanian receptionist was prompt and knew quite well what to do when a little red light began blinking on his desk, and so, in a few minutes Arthur was in Elizaveta's car with the woman herself driving frantically while Arthur let out streams of curses in the backseat whenever they hit a small bump.

"You okay back there, Artie?" she called, after a particularly loud 'bloody hell!' from the Brit.

"Bleeding fantastic! My arm's just a bit broken, you see, love."

"Sheesh, cool it with the sarcasm. So, how much time until you meet your real love?"

Arthur glared at the back of her seat, cradling his injured arm. "I would see that if I wanted my arm to fall apart!"

"So dramatic. Have you considered joining the theatre, Arthur?"

The Hungarian skidded by the emergence wing and threw her door open to help Arthur out. She pushed the doors of the wing and entered, while yelling at the top of her voice:

"Bonnefoy! Francis, get out here, you fucker! Arthur's injured again!"

Everyone in the waiting room stilled and mothers gasped, horrified, covering their children's ears. The elderly looked at her with disapproval etched on their faces. It were only the nurses, doctors, regular patients and rest of the staff who, after a moment of surprised blinking, continued on with their work, used to the familiar scene. Arthur hovered in the background, holding his arm gingerly, wanting nothing but the ground opening up and swallowing him whole. Did she have to always be this loud?

"I heard that someone's been calling for me," a familiar, heavily accented voice sang out.

Arthur would've given anything to punch that disgusting, slimy smirk off Dr. Frog. If only his arm wasn't broken.

"Ohoho! Look who we have here. Bonjour, cher. Got yourself hurt again didn't you?"

"You know fully well it was the hellion, you sodding frog. Fix this up right now."

Dr. Francis Bonnefoy gave him a simpering smile.

"Oui, oui. Let us go in, shall we? Come along, Miss Herdevary."

Ten minutes later, after a lot of swearing on Arthur's part and almost gleeful, malicious laughter on Francis' part, Arthur's arm was finally put in a cast. Arthur grumbled as streaks of pain continued to stab his arm.

"Ah, your timer, mon ami."

Arthur glanced at the Frenchman with a scowl.

"Yes, what about it?"

Francis smiled a real smile, to Arthur's surprise.

"It says you have three minutes, non? Ah, how lovely. Amour. I remember how excited I was when I met my Jeanne."

Francis sighed dreamily.

"Really," Arthur began, snarkily, "I can't see what she sees in y – wait, three minutes?"

His eyes whipped to his left wrist and there they were – the malicious numbers glaring up at him:

00y : 00m : 0000h : 03mins : 05s

Bloody hell, where had the time gone?

"Oh my god!" Elizaveta squealed in excitement. Arthur ignored her as he stared at his watch in dumbfounded silence, his eyes glued to his wrist as the numbers flipped away. Out of all the places in the world, the bloody hospital? Arthur could practically hear is inner (and completely secret) romantic wailing in despair. And yelling. Yelling in a young man's voice which was definitely not his. He looked up, confused, to see similar bemused expressions on his companions' faces.

"What is going on?" Francis said, frowning, glancing at the closed door, beyond which a mixture of voices were positively screaming at each other.

"Dr. Bonnefoy!" Arthur jumped in surprise as a bespectacled nurse burst into the frog's office, looking frantic. "Two patients are causing an uproar in the hallway."

"I noticed," Francis replied drily as he stood up, brushing imaginary lint off his lab coat. "Elizaveta, please make sure Arthur doesn't pick a fight with my table while I'm gone."

And with that, the man walked away, leaving Arthur sputtering with rage, spitting curses that would put a sailor to shame. Elizaveta just nodded along, giggling, much to his displeasure.

"Oh, mon dieu! Put down that chair! Your arm will deteriorate even further."

Elizaveta and Arthur looked at each other, startled and then nodded once before jumping out of their seats (at least, Elizaveta did so – Arthur just stumbled up, wincing as his arm throbbed with pain) and moving towards the door (as much as Arthur disliked Francis, he'd prefer him himself hitting Francis with a chair and a random stranger, thank you very much).

Arthur saw a flash of blue and gold before he felt his wrist burn. He stopped short, his arm rising almost mechanically as he stared at the numbers imprinted on his wrist, not ticking anymore but still and the same for the first time in his life:

00y : 00m : 0000h : 00mins : 00s

He slowly raised his eyes to meet startled blue (it was a strange blue; all shades of the colour swirled together, bright, bright, beautiful) eyes staring back him. They looked at each other, captivated, neither looking away until Francis cleared his throat.

"Ah, this is quite splendid and all, but would you mind putting that chair down now, sir?"

Arthur snapped his gaze away, his face burning. He heard a chair being set down with a noisy thump. He looked around to find people staring at him either looking at him or the man with the blue eyes (his soulmate, he thought disbelievingly) or a large pale haired man smiling serenely at them. Francis and Elizaveta snapped to attention and began dispersing the small crowd. Elizaveta gave him a wink and a thumbs-up as she slid by, the git.

The large man spoke up in a heavy Russian accent, still smiling (which Arthur found rather eerie for some reason), "Well, it has been nice meeting you again, comrade. I hope the next time does not involve chairs, da?" And then, he walked off, humming to himself, ignoring Arthur's soulmate glaring daggers at him. Just as the man disappeared around a corner, Arthur's attention was drawn back to the man in front of him who coughed slightly and reddened.

"Um, hi?"

Arthur chose not to respond. American, he noted as he surveyed the man. Blond. Glasses. Kind of . . . handsome (Arthur could feel his ears burning as he thought that).

Also, with a cast around his left arm. That snapped Arthur out of his daze. He felt a scowl form on his face and he simply glared at the sheepish looking man in front of him (Who looked attractive while doing so? What the bloody hell?).

"Heh, sorry 'bout the arm. I fell down a gutter. I thought the stupid thing was closed, ahaha. I'm glad to meetcha. Very, very glad. I'm Alfred F. Jones. You're really cool. Not that your name's Really Cool. Oh my god, that came out wrong, dinnit? Crap. Sorry. That was neither awesome nor heroic. I'm rambling now, ain't I? Sorry. Do you want to, like, go out and get a coffee or something? Wow, it's just that. Man. Um, sorr – wait, why're you walking towards me? Oh my go – ow!"

Arthur stared blankly at the man – Alfred, he reminded himself – lying on the floor, his fist outstretched. Cripes, he didn't mean to knock him unconscious. But god, it felt good. His moment of ecstasy, however, lasted for only a moment after which he felt a searing pain in his eye, right where he's punched Alfred and slipped into darkness.

Okay, so maybe he didn't think this through.

Arthur groaned as he woke up, his right eye throbbing. His head was pillowed on something soft and clean covers that stank of the hospital were drawn up to his chin.

"Oh, you're awake!"

Arthur turned his head to see Alfred sitting on a chair beside him, sporting an awful black bruise on his eye. Arthur felt himself flush.

"I, er, never introduced myself before. I'm Arthur Kirkland."

Alfred smiled under his flushed gaze. "It's nice to meet you, Arthur."

"Likewise," Arthur looked at the ugly bruise on his soulmate's eye pointedly. "Erm, also, I apologise for that."

Alfred laughed (just the right amount of childish and mature, Arthur thought inwardly).

"S'okay, dude. I deserved that. I'm clumsy – always have been. I'm pretty sure you would've been hurt all the time 'cause of me. All I've ever got from you is, like, five papercuts."

Arthur felt a smile inch up his face.

"Well, it never hurts to be careful."

Alfred winked at him and flashed a wide smile to which Arthur most definitely did not blush.

"S'okay! I never believed in that, ha!"

Oh, god what an adorable dork.

Arthur wanted to kill his inner thoughts now. He really did.

"So, who was the man you were going to throw a chair at?" he said, trying to quell the redness of his face.

Alfred laughed nervously. "Oh. Well. He was Ivan, a high school rival of sorts. Last time I saw him, I sprayed his scarf with itching powder. He's still sore about that, ha. I was startled to see him in England, though. "

"What are you doing in England? Aren't you American?"

Alfred nodded. "Yep. The good ol' US of A! But I'm studying law here. Just started two days ago, actually."

"Oh."

There was a sort of awkward silence in which the two soulmates did their best to look anywhere but each other.

"Erm, so," Arthur began, deciding to be the one to break the ice, "can I take you up on the offer of going out to grab a spot of tea later? Or coffee, as you previously said, before I, um, slugged you."

Alfred's smile widened, and he leaned forward to grab Arthur's uninjured hand (and Arthur most definitely did not yelp at this. Absolutely not.), nodding enthusiastically.

"The offer's always open," he chirped, his blue eyes sparkling. "Your friend, Elizabeth – " "Elizaveta" " – yeah, her, said that I can take you whenever I want and she'll take care of the frog, whatever that means!"

Arthur slowly smiled.

"Well, then. I'm feeling much better and I'd never miss a chance to get the frog in trouble with the hospital management, so how about now?" Arthur reddened. "I-I mean, if that's fine with you, of course."

Alfred jumped up, startling him, and threw off his covers (Arthur was suddenly glad that the frog hadn't taken off his normal clothes in favour of the ghastly hospital ones).

"Let's go, Artie!"

And as Arthur pulled on his shoes while threatening to gut Alfred if he ever dared to call him by that horrible nickname again, he couldn't help but feel glad that he hadn't had to wait for the hellion for five more years. Really, the man was growing on him.

And he loved it.

a/n: i wanted to make this a twoshot but fuck you school. /cri
maybe in the future. this shot sucks so much omg. im sorry xD

follow me on tumblr if you want. im always-off-the-beat.

review please! i'd love to hear what you think about this :))