Till Death do us Part- Soldier!England/Reader 6.

Alfred beamed across the table at Arthur, cobalt eyes twinkling. The American had been enquiring into the Englishman's love life once again, eager for both details and the other blondes friendship. Reluctant as he was, it soothed Arthur to speak of the past and all he'd left behind, and to an extent he supposed he could tolerate the enthusiastic boy who longed to stay in his company. In the end Alfred resorted to asking Arthur how he and ______ had met, so the Englishman then obliged...

It had been a miserable, tumultuous day. Rain hammered against the windows, Arthur's home groaning and complaining from its very foundations as the storm shook the house. He'd been rather gloomy himself too, remaining curled up on his scratched leather sofa for the majority of the day and consuming vast quantities of tea. When the loneliness had become too much to bear he had sloped from his perch and tugged on a freshly washed shirt, though, intending to at least find something of interest to occupy his bored mind. His elder brothers had left the previous day after an absolutely chaotic visit, and the war-zone they'd left behind did little to soothe the Englishman's fraying nerves. In retrospect he probably just needed a drink, so deigned to head through the rain towards the local pub.

The Queen Bess was a quaint, traditional little pub that Arthur frequented regularly. With low ceilings and painted wooden beams, it seemed the very embodiment of cosy- A fire roared in one corner, the usual suspects perched on leather bar-stools and conversing over the days newspaper. Usually the blonde would occupy the arm-chair nearest the fire, turning on the radio and letting the crackling melodies fill the air around him. The owner of the Queen Bess was a good friend of his, and as far as he was concerned Arthur was always welcome- In total honesty the Englishman adored the place, and their fish and chips made his stomach groan in anticipation.

For once the blonde took a seat at the bar, though, asking for a beer and staring into its depths once served. The amber liquid slid down his throat after a while, slender white fingers curling around the glass as he raised it time and time again with a practised elegance. Considering the state of the weather the pub was near enough empty, some of the tables only occupied by a few rain-soaked families eating dinner and the seat by the fire already occupied.  The blonde could still hear the rain, and the thunder now, a cacophany of roars drowning out the sound of idle chatter.

Arthur had been somewhat depressed at the time he met ______. He was at a time in his life where he was unsure what to do; he'd completed his studies, lived alone in his own two-bedroom house and only saw his family during certain times of the year. Time and time again he'd be haunted by aspects of his past, of bullies in boarding school to simple childhood feuds. He'd even wrestled with social anxiety for a while, reluctant to leave the house and socialise (though he never really spoke to a lot of people in the first place). For a year he'd been consumed by books and visits to antique shops, nights in the pub and drunken sobs as he staggered home. The only other place he seemed to go to was the local library, and even there he was void of happiness...he was well and truly stuck. The blonde knew it couldn't be a mid-life crisis (he was twenty-three for goodness sake!), and the only other conclusion he could come to was that it was the loneliness that tormented him. One of the few friends he had suggested nights in the town from time to time, but Arthur had grown out of his rebellious ways and the women in the clubs were far from attractive. He'd not been desperate enough to resort to one-night stands, but sometimes he wished he didn't long for such stability- He was old fashioned through and through, and nobody seemed to see past the bags under his eyes and all his little imperfections. Burying his head in his hands, Arthur wondered what the world had come to. Thank goodness the war was over.

Despite how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, it wasn't love at first sight when he became friends with his future lover. She'd been sitting in a corner of the pub on her own when he'd first laid eyes on her, soaked to the skin and shivering beneath a thin shirt and patterned skirt. She reminded the blonde of a seal, somewhat, with her big ____ eyes and freckled face, but she wasn't particularly special. Only when she caught him staring did he realise there was some sort of quality about her that he admired. She held herself with a certain grace, seemed demure and understated as she watched him over the rim of her cup and he watched back. There were a few books stacked beside her too: Great Expectations, Romeo and Juliet, some thin little book that she'd probably got from Reader's Digest. Deft, soft fingers skimmed over the printed words, lips moving as she mouthed what she read.
Yes, that had caught his eye, the way she watched him and the way she watched her books. Curious, intelligent, perceptive.
Arthur had then noticed that not a drop of rain had landed on her volumes- She really allowed herself to get wet for the sake of a few books? He smiled to himself, taking a quick sip of his beer. He wished the amber solution were liquid courage, wished he could bring himself to talk to her. He was getting himself in far too deep for certain, fantasizing about himself and that wonderfully quirky young woman in the corner.
Though, moments later, he stood up. He tried to count how gradually time had passed, how long it had taken for him to make up his mind.

Arthur didn't know what compelled him to walk towards her, but he did, and he gave a small smile when the girl began to regard him carefully with those gentle eyes. After a while she smiled too, extending a hand "______. ______ ______." He shook it, feeling an involuntary blush cloud his countenance "Arthur Kirkland."
"You can sit down, if you want."
"Thank you." There was a brief period of silence, in which Arthur processed what to say. Eventually he raised his head, carding his fingers through his hair and glancing at the novels by her side. "Are you interested in Shakespeare?" He queried, immeadietly wishing he'd not instigated the conversation at all. _____ nodded, sliding a bookmark into the tome she'd been reading and then propping her chin on a fist. "A great amount." She smiled, unbridled passion in her eyes "I'm studying it, well, English Literature, but I do enjoy it."
"Strange...I did the same! I studied history, literature and politics."
"You sound a rather intellectual fellow, if you don't mind me saying."
"You shouldn't be so self-deprecating, poppet." Arthur didn't realise the pet name had expelled from his lips until a becoming blush crossed ______'s face and she cast her gaze to the table. One finger traced lazy circles in the grain of the wood. "W-What's your favourite play?" She asked eventually, and from there Arthur wasn't sure whether he'd blown his chances. "Oh, I like a Midsummer Night's Dream. To be honest I like them all...that one just reminds me of home though."
"Home?"
"Yes...I'm not from around here. Me and my elder brothers lived in the Scottish Highlands for a long time and then I came down here with my mother. She passed away three years ago."
"...I'm so sorry."
"It's fine. Sometimes it doesn't seem any easier, but I suppose talking about it helps." He glanced downwards, staring into his now empty glass "She introduced me to Shakespeare, was the one to teach me how to read, in fact. I used to want to be a writer so she encouraged that too."
"What stopped you? Surely losing her would encourage you further?"
"I lost all of my inspiration...it was complicated...they may seem like petty excuses but I had to finish my studies and find somewhere to stay." He looked up, shocked by the sweet sadness in ______'s eyes as she listened to him. Soon enough he continued: "I've been here since, I had to move closer to my university after all."
"It sounds so hard for you, having to make your own way." She gave a languid shrug "I could say I'm in a similar predicament. I've lodgings with a friend but most of my family are elsewhere so I've had to go it alone."
"Maybe...you don't have to be alone? Maybe I don't have to be..." Arthur was already beginning to grow affectionate for the young woman, and he could see in her eyes she felt the same way.

After long, philosohpical conversations with one-another, eventually it became late. Arthur walked ______ home through the sultry, star-strewn night, his coat around her shoulders and his umbrella sheilding them both from the drizzle. He couldn't seem to process what he was doing, how ridiculously romantic everything seemed to be. It was unreal.

When he returned home, he stroked his cheek where _______ had kissed it and swore he'd have to thank whatever powers there were that had compelled him to meet her.
He wasn't alone any more...surely this was the start of something special?

Alfred gave that film-star smile, chuckling softly at a blushing Arthur. "It sounds like something out of a story, o-or a movie!" The American said, and as he tried to ignore the cheerful young mans remarks the Englishman prayed he'd still get his happy ending.
He had to.

He'd see ______ again.