APH: The 7:12 Train

It was a Monday morning, and Arthur shuffled into the train at precisely 7:12am, just as he had always done.

It was a routine that had been continuing for years. Every workday morning, at 7:12, he would be on this train, on his own, personally assigned seat, and he would arrive, every day, at 7:49 in time for his work in London. There were exceptions, of course, but the days rarely differed. It had continued to the point where he could actively recognize his fellow passengers by face. There was the man who always wore the long dark trench coat, the woman who changed her handbag every day… Arthur imagined that they must recognize him too, by this point, but there had never been any acknowledgements or recognition. The journey to London always continued in stiff, awkward silence.

On this particular Monday morning, Arthur expected much the same as the norm.

But today, his seat was taken.

Arthur stopped abruptly.

There was someone in his seat.

It was his seat. His seat. The seat he had been sitting in for the last three years since leaving university. The seat that has unofficially become his. And it was taken.

It was almost insulting. Pausing just at the entrance of the train carriage, Arthur shot a skeptical look at the youth currently taking up his seat. It was a young man - a little younger than Arthur perhaps – with a head of messy, blonde hair and a pair of crooked glasses perching upon his nose. He was currently gazing mildly outside the window, a pair of earphones plugged casually into his ears. And he looked…

As if noticing Arthur's gaze, the boy looked up, blinking.

Arthur started at the unexpected eye contact, but responded far too late to look away. The blue orbs enraptured him, piercing him with its brightness and life. Suddenly, Arthur couldn't look away.

The two stared at each other for a moment, and it was the younger man who reacted first, much to Arthur's surprise and embarrassment: he offered him a wide, cheerful smile.

Immediately, the Englishman's face flushed a bright, burning red. Awkwardly, he offered the other a quick nod before slipping into the seat at the other side of the carriage. The views that had once been so familiar to him shifted abruptly to his left.

He saw a whole new world he had never glimpsed before.

Tuesday, and Arthur approached his usual, 7:12 train with a strange mix of trepidation and anticipation. He wondered if his seat would still be available, and whether the boy would still be there. It was highly unlikely, of course; as far as he had observed, only the regulars of the train actively chose out a permanent seat. It had been pure coincidence with the boy. Even if he was taking the same train, there was absolutely no guarantee he would still be in Arthur's seat.

The electric doors slipped open. Arthur stepped inside.

The young man was still there, but this time, he no longer had his earphones plugged in. He glanced up casually as a spillage of passengers entered the carriage. His eyes met Arthur's once again. He smiled, just as he had on Monday

Arthur nodded politely towards him. He had prepared himself better today, at least.

The boy looked away after that. Arthur took the same seat he had taken the day before.

The train rattled towards London.

So it continued. The boy remained on Arthur's seat, sometimes listening to his music, sometimes hastily stuffing a cereal bar into his face… But, even if he did fail to supply himself with sufficient nutrition for the mornings, the one thing the boy never failed to do was to smile at the Englishman every time he boarded the train. And every time, Arthur would nod politely back at him. That action alone was, apparently, sufficient fuel for the day's next smile, but a small part of Arthur could not help but wonder how his swift, expressionless nods could even become vaguely equivalent to such an energetic, friendly grin.

It was a Thursday morning, a few weeks later, when he first offered his own, tentative smile.

And on Friday, he was upgraded. The boy locked on to him through the window with a bright beam, before he had even clambered on board, and opened his mouth.

"Hey there."

He spoke with a faint accent not associated with any part of the United Kingdom. He was American. Of course.

Arthur managed a small, shy smile. He did not particularly enjoy interacting with strangers. "Good morning."

The American did not seem to notice his nervous tone, only grinned at him once more before turning to face the window.

For some reason, Arthur felt vaguely light-headed when he took his seat.

The American always left the train before Arthur did. At 7:38, if all was going smoothly and the trains were on time. Clapham Junction was always his final stop. Arthur wasn't quite sure why he noticed these things.

Wednesday 7:12, and he boarded the train as usual, already armed with a smile.

The American looked up from his iPod. He grinned.

"Hey there."

"Good morning."

Arthur wondered why his smile lingered longer than necessary on his face.

The swift change from October to November was utterly remarkable, and Arthur often found himself marveling in the sudden, abrupt shift from autumn into winter. The wind of October 31st had been kind and soft, whispering away the last remnants of golden leaves and faint, damp warmth. He had woken up the next day to a bitter, freezing chill that had forced him into scarves and gloves. (Hand-knitted by himself, and he had to admit he was very proud with the result.)

Now he stood, shivering, upon the platform, stamping his feet and watching his own breath clouding into the atmosphere. There would be snow soon, he was certain. Snow and frost, and along with the snow and frost came the delays and cancellations. These were the only times that Arthur did not stick to his own, carefully planned out schedules. Personally, he did not trust the British Railways.

The train rattled into the station at 7:14 that particular morning, and Arthur made his way gratefully into the warmth of the train's carriage, sighing in relief. Out of habit, he glanced towards his old seat, and sure enough, the American was sitting there, his hand buried into a packet of crisps.

The boy glanced up, and grinned, as usual. "Hey there."

Arthur opened his mouth, ready to continue the normal ritual.

But the boy wasn't finished.

"I like your scarf!" He commented, his voice painfully loud in the carriage. "It looks cute!"

And suddenly, it was as though the whole train was staring at Arthur's scarf. Staring at the soft, blue fabric and the fairies he had worked hard to embroider in.

Arthur could feel himself burning under their gazes. At that moment, he could feel nothing but anger and shame. Who was this man to draw so much uncalled attention towards him? Why were they even talking? They were perfect strangers towards each other! And yet… what could he say without appearing ungentlemanly and discourteous?

In the end, he didn't say anything, only shuffled towards his usual seat, face burning a bright, tomato red.

For the remainder of the journey, he kept his eyes firmly glued at the view flicking by the train's window, refusing to look in the American's direction.

As soon as the boy stepped out of the carriage at Clapham Junction, he stuffed his scarf into his bag and swore to himself that he would never wear it again.

The next day, he did not take his usual carriage.

It was only the following Tuesday did he finally accept the fact that he was being both rude and ridiculous.

The American was just a stranger. A boy fresh into society and, as it would appear, fresh into England. Arthur did not need to pay him any heed. He did not even have to greet him. Not if he didn't want to. It was just common courtesy. That was all.

He still didn't wear his scarf, despite the sharpening chill hanging in the air. But determined, he turned back to his usual carriage. He would not look at the American. There would be no conversation and no exchange of greetings as long as their eyes didn't meet.

With his head held high, he strode into the carriage, resisting the urge to glance at his old seat. Stubbornly, he turned his back upon the American, and settled himself on to the seat parallel to the boy's.

Still, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the boy looking at him. He looked confused, a little upset, even. Despite himself, Arthur bit his lip. Of course he would be upset. He had been rude, deliberately avoiding the other man. Though he had not quite forgiven the other, he could not help but acknowledge the fact that his own actions were questionable.

The train journey felt even stonier than usual.

Once the weekend had passed, Arthur had all but forgotten his 'scarf' incident.

As normal, he headed into his carriage, and, temporarily forgetting his earlier resolve, glanced idly towards the American.

This time there were no smiles. The blue eyes looked up at him pitifully. They seemed slightly crestfallen.

"Hey, how come you're not wearing your scarf?" The boy asked, biting his lip. "I really did like it."

Arthur stared at him, taken aback. He was not teasing. He was not joking. His eyes, his expression were completely serious. Even hurt.

He had never felt so guilty before.

"I-It's… It's not as cold as before." He managed, lamely. "I'm sorry."

The apology slipped out before he could even understand what it was he had been trying to say.

The American watched him for a moment, and then his smile returned. It warmed the air and the atmosphere like a burning hearth, even if the winter November air remained as chilly as ever.

"Well, I guess you English people must be used to it, huh?" He commented, cheerfully. "I'm freezing my balls off!"

It… wasn't the ideal way to describe the cold, Arthur felt, but he smiled nevertheless. And it was a genuine smile.

"Something like that, I suppose!" He answered, with a slight shrug, before settling down upon his seat.

The American grinned at him, and when the train clattered into Clapham Junction, he pulled up from his seat and waved.

"See ya round!" He laughed, before stepping out into the flurry of people milling around the platform.

Hello and goodbye now, hmm? Arthur wondered idly to himself.

December tumbled after November with a rush of snow and festive atmospheres. There were green and red lights decorating the houses, Christmas trees glowing vibrantly through the windows. Snowmen of all shapes and sizes stood guard on front gardens, often armed with a broom and a wide, crooked smile. The TVs blared with adverts and rang with old, Christmas special re-runs, and even Arthur, who lived alone and never bothered to decorate his apartment in anyway, felt more cheerful than usual at the prospect of Christmas and New Year. He was going home this year, to reunite with his family, and though there were many aspects of his family he couldn't stand – his younger brother Peter, for one – he was actually looking forward to return.

Friday the 17th would be his last day of work before he would be able to spend his holidays, and Arthur stepped on to the 7:12 train as normal, clutching his usual backpack and a carefully wrapped parcel.

The American looked up. "Hey dude!" He exclaimed, cheerfully.

Arthur smiled back. He still wasn't quite sure whether the 'dude' thing meant an elevation or a demotion, but nevertheless, he decided to venture one step forward. "Merry Christmas."

"It's not Christmas yet." The boy pointed out with a vague frown.

"I'm going away to celebrate Christmas with my family," Arthur explained, even as he settled into his seat. "I thought I would wish you an early Christmas."

"Oh! I geddit." The American nodded. "How long are you away for? I think I'll miss you!"

Arthur blinked, a little embarrassed. "W-Well… Two weeks, I should think…"

"Aw, New Year too?" The boy protested, as the train jerked itself into action. "Man, you're lucky. My family's all in America. It really sucks that I can't see them."

"O-Oh." Arthur blinked. "I'm sorry."

"Nah, don't be. Not your fault." The American waved a hand, dismissively. "Guess I kinda miss 'em, but we can Skype and all that, so it's OK." He smiled. "Oh! Wait, that means I'll need to wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year…!"

"No, no, it's quite alright." Arthur shook his head, but the American's attention had already wandered elsewhere.

"Hey, whose that present for?" He exclaimed, tilting his head curiously at the package resting on the empty seat besides the Englishman. "Your girlfriend?"

Arthur shifted, his face burning. "Um… Not quite." He mumbled, averting his eyes to the floor. "I-It's… It's ah…"

He didn't quite know what to say, but the boy didn't seem to mind his incoherency. He beamed at him.

"Ah well, that's pretty sweet of you! She must be lucky to get a guy like you, huh?"

Well… I don't actually have a girlfriend... Arthur thought, but he nodded anyway.

They didn't speak anymore after that, but the boy gave his usual cheery wave and a 'See ya in the New Year, dude!' before leaving, and Arthur heaved a dark, heavy sigh.

The parcel had contained his scarf. The blue scarf he had knitted himself. The one embroidered with fairies. He had been planning to give it to the American boy.

Now he stared at it, ashamed and embarrassed. What on earth had possessed him to do such a thing? No one gave presents to perfect strangers! It would have been odd. People would have stared. He didn't even know the boy's name. Why had he gone and done that? Why did he go and prepare a gift for a man he didn't even know? What waswrong with him?

Groaning, he buried his face into the packaging, burning in his own shame.

Why did he feel so disappointed at himself for not giving the boy the parcel?

Christmas came and went. January 1st descended with an explosion of fireworks around the world. And all too soon, it was Monday again. Arthur stood at the platform, as usual, and waited for the 7:12 train.

Today it was early, arriving at 7:09 instead, not that Arthur was complaining. January was bitterly cold, and he had been stupid enough to plunge one foot straight into an icy puddle. Today, he practically limped on to the train, arms folded tightly across his chest and muttering curses to himself as he tried to ignore the wet squelch that occurred every time his left foot met the ground.

The American was on the phone this time, but still he shot Arthur a quick smile and raised a finger, meaning 'be with you in a sec'. Arthur nodded, and sagged gratefully into his own seat, leaning against the window and listening to the only conversation that filled the silent carriage.

"… Gil did what?" The boy was laughing, his eyes fixed upon the window as he held his phone. "Oh my god! That sounds hilarious! Man, I wish I was there to see that!"

There was a pause, and the American chuckled again.

"Wow. That sounded pretty wild, Matt, even for you. Hmm? … My god, really? They kissed? Matt! What were you doing stalking them like that, huh? … Hah! Sure, suuuure bro. Keep telling yourself that."

A Christmas party of some kind, Arthur concluded, wistfully. A Christmas party between friends. The thought made Arthur's heart twist. It wasn't that he didn't love his family, he truly did, but a small part of him really yearned to be surrounded by friends, by people who liked him because of him, not people who liked him, who had to like him, because of his blood.

Eventually, and by this time it was already 7:22, the boy hung up from his call and turned to Arthur, his eyes warm.

"Hey there, dude!" He beamed. "It feels like ages since I last saw ya! How was Christmas?"

Despite himself, Arthur smiled. "Very good, thank you." He answered, and then added, though he could already foresee the answer, "Yours?"

The American laughed. "So-so. I was just talking to my brother, Mattie. It really sounded like they were having fun without me."

Mattie? I see. It was remarkably ironic how he already knew the names of several of this boy's friends and family and yet he didn't actually know the name of the boy himself. "I'm sure that wasn't the case." He said, reassuringly.

The boy shrugged. "Ah well… Guess I'll just have to wait for next year, huh?" He smiled again, but this time it was a forlorn, weak turn of the lips. "See, I would have gone back to the US, I really would have, but I don't have any money. 'Sides, it's only for a few weeks, y'know? And that's like, a lot for what, five hundred pounds or whatever it is?"

Arthur nodded his agreement. "So… Why are you here, in England all alone?" He asked, a little nervously. It was a rather intrusive question, after all. "It's obvious that you miss America."

The boy hesitated for a moment, frowning. "Well…" He drew the word out. "I was… looking for a job here, y'know? And I've never been to England before. I wanted to check it out." He winked. "It's fun to take a look around, I suppose, but it got a little lonely after a while." He looked out of the window. "Know what I mean?"

Arthur didn't. He had always spent much of his life in isolation. Friendships did not come easily with Arthur Kirkland. People said he was 'emotionless', 'heartless', and, true to form, he never told them how much those words hurt.

"You must be very popular." It wasn't a question.

The boy shrugged. "I have friends."

Arthur felt his mouth twist. He sat back, and didn't say anything else.

The American turned his own attention back down at his hands. He twiddled his thumbs.

7:38. The train groaned its way into Clapham Junction, slowing to a halt. Dutifully, the American pulled himself up to his seat. As he moved his way towards the electric doors, he gave Arthur a final look. Arthur couldn't quite identify the expression within those clear, blue eyes. Was that pity? Sympathy? Sadness?

The boy didn't say goodbye this time. Instead he said:

"My name's Alfred."

Arthur found himself looking forward to meeting the American every morning.

No. It wasn't just 'the American' anymore. It was Alfred. It was Alfred whom Arthur found himself looking forward to meeting. It was Alfred's company that Arthur well and truly enjoyed.

Yes. Every morning, Alfred would be there, on the seat that was no longer Arthur's, and he would look up and grin.

"Hey dude! How you doing?"

And Arthur would nod back. "Good, thank you. How are you?"

And they would chat. Alfred would do most of the talking. He would complain about England and its strange weather and the English people and their strange, English ways, and Arthur would listen, and shake his head in exasperation at the poor foreigner's misguided understandings.

"… I mean, seriously. Why aren't any of the roads fucking straight? They're… They're like noodles. Build straight roads, people! And dammit, no one ever has their house number shown. You always have to, like, come right up to their doors to find the number, and it's always so weird! Number 16'd be over here and Number 17'd be like, waaaaay overthere…"

And so on.

Those months leading up to July were the best days of Arthur's life.

It was the 4th of July when Arthur boarded his usual, 7:12 train. A warm, relaxed Friday.

Today, Alfred was on the phone again, though he still spared Arthur a quick glance and smile before turning his attention back to his conversation. He was talking to his brother again. A certain 'Matt'. Arthur occupied himself with listening to Alfred's side of the chatter. Technically, it wasn't eavesdropping; Alfred was loud enough for the whole carriage to hear. Someday, he must point out the 'Quiet Zone' sign to the boy.

"… and then I quit. Mmh, yeah. She looked pretty shocked too, haha. But she said she understood. Ugh, I'll miss all those salaries…"

A quiet pause. The voice on the other end of the line buzzed faintly.

"Shut up, Matt. Just 'cos you earn more than me! And I thought the pounds were worth more than dollars and everything…"

Another pause, and Alfred sighed. It was the tired, heavy sigh of a man with too much on his shoulders. For some reason, Arthur found himself straining his ears to listen.

"… Yeah. Yeah, I know. It's just… Man, I can't do this anymore. I really miss home. I really miss you, and Gil and Francis and… Y'know, all my friends." He faltered for a moment. "I miss Ivan."

Something about the way the last person was mentioned made Arthur stiffen.

"Yeah, yeah. He probably does. I still haven't forgiven him for ditching me to go hiking with some… polar bears or whatever… What? I know it's not his fault there's no reception in the freaking Himalayas, but still! I'm his fucking boyfriend, goddammit!"

It was as though someone had dumped a bucket of icy water over Arthur's head. He couldn't understand why he had suddenly lost the ability to breathe.

"… Sorry, sorry." Alfred scratched his head, sheepishly, his back towards the Englishman and his eyes drawn to the window outside. "Yeah, yeah, I only have to wait two months." The last two words were drawn out in an exaggerated groan. "… Easy for you to say, Matt! You have no freaking concept of time! Well, you'd better be ready for when I'm back, dude! I'm expecting a week long party with everybody, OK? And then when Ivan gets back, we're gonna throw another one…"

At this point, Arthur could no longer comprehend the words that were spilling out of Alfred's mouth. He wished nothing more than to press himself into his seat, and disappear into the fabric. Why was he being so ridiculous?! Why had he ever thought anything of this… this stupid boy who was nothing more than a stranger and a fellow passenger?!

He was just a stranger… wasn't he? Wasn't he?!

Vaguely, through a hazy confusion that was now his mind, he heard Alfred's voice.

"… See you in two days, Matt!"

Emptily, he watched the American tuck his phone away.

"You're… leaving?"

Alfred blinked at that, as if caught by surprise, and then he smiled, a little awkwardly. "Y-yeah…" He admitted. "There's no place like home, huh?"

Arthur nodded, though what he was agreeing to, he was no longer aware of. "Y-You're leaving so soon?"

He hated to sound so desperate, but there seemed to be no other way of putting it.

Thankfully, the American didn't seem to notice as such. "Yeah…" He shrugged, and then looked up, blue eyes as bright as the ocean. He grinned. "Why, are you gonna miss me?"

"O-Of course not, you idiot!"

The words had slipped out before he could rein them back. In his frantic attempt to veil his anxiety, the words echoed far harsher than he had intended.

Alfred flinched. His eyes were hurt. "Um…"

Arthur had never hated himself more.

"I-I'm... I'm Arthur!"

He was completely broken now, blurting out whatever words came into his mind.

This is a gift, for you. Merry Christmas!... Cute? Of course it's cute, I knitted it myself!...Y-Yes… I suppose we are friends. In a way… Hmm? Well, no one can be better at queuing than the English, of course!... What? No, you idiot. I don't have a girlfriend! It's for you!... D-Do I like you? W-Well, that question is debatable, I mean… Why are you leaving? Why do you have to go when we were getting on so well? Why do you already have a boyfriend? Why do I find myself looking forward to chatting to you every single day? Why have you been so kind to me? Why does this always happen?

Why?

Everything he should have said, but didn't, struggling violently with each other for a chance to escape out into the open. Despite himself, despite the bitterness, he swallowed them back. Whatever happened, he could not let his feelings spill. He could only hope to channel those emotions through his eyes, gazing imploringly, pleadingly, towards the boy. Please understand. Please understand what I can't communicate to you in words.

But Alfred did not understand.

"Arthur, huh? Dude, finally! I was waiting for you to tell me that! Man, it was kinda awkward calling you a 'dude' all the time – not that you're, y'know, not a dude – but, wow, it feels good to be able to call you by your real name! I actually kinda like it. It's so… I dunno, English. You geddit?"

Arthur's fingers dug excruciatingly into his plastic armrest.

"Y-Yeah…" He managed.

Alfred considered him for a moment. "Man, you really should have told me sooner." He said, at last, and Arthur liked to imagine that he heard a small hint of remorse in his voice. "I'm leaving on Sunday."

Arthur could do the maths.

Alfred only sighed.

"Y'know… I wish I could have the chance to get to know you better," he remarked forwardly, even as the train clattered into Clapham Junction. "You seem like a really nice guy."

Arhur said nothing. The train drew to a halt.

Alfred pulled himself up from his seat. He made his way towards the electric doors.

As he reached them, he turned and smiled one, last time towards the Englishman.

"Bye Arthur."

And just like that, he stepped out of the train, and out of Arthur's life.

It was 7:38am.

It was painful. For the next few weeks running, he could not stop himself from glancing instinctively at the seat where Alfred normally sat. He could not stop himself from waiting for the usual, cheerful 'Hey there!' and his own 'Good morning' responses. He wondered if it would have become 'Hey Arthur', if only Alfred had stayed long enough.

Out of respect, he did not sit in Alfred's seat.

After all, it was Alfred's seat now, and Arthur could never imagine viewing it as anything else.

It was a Monday morning, and Arthur shuffled into the train at precisely 7:12am, just as he had always done.