“Freak!”

A corner of you mouth twitched at the word as you held back a smirk. The word used to sting, but now the simplicity of the insult merely amused you.

“Slut!”

That one used to hurt, too. Back when you cared. But it was nearly over now, you were nearly done.

The wind tugged greedily at your clothing and (h/l) locks, making everything that wasn’t tied down dance through the air. You so longed to join the leaves that drifted lazily under the golden sun. You had to admit, the cliff was cliche and stupid, but you couldn’t help but look down at the waves leaping up to capture you in their bitingly cold embrace.

Letting your (e/c) eyes slowly slide shut, you remembered your happy days of living with Arthur.

The eccentric Brit never failed to make you smile, whether it was through his brightly frosted cupcakes or his exaggerated impersonations of the next door neighbor.

Your neighbor. You would miss him a lot, too.

Alfred F. Jones wasn’t much for cupcakes or watching cheesy movies with you, but, he was special in his own way.

The door slammed open, making you jump slightly. Arthur didn’t even flinch.

“Hello, Alfred,” he mumbled, concentrating on the perfect little swirl of frosting he was working on.

You couldn’t help but grin when the auburn haired American sauntered into the kitchen. “Yo.”

Sharing a glance with a smirking Arthur, you greeted your neighbor as well, “Hey, Al!”

He smiled at you, almost sweetly, before smirking again and raising a single finger to his lips. You felt one eyebrow arch as you tried not to laugh, watching the tall man attempt to sneak up behind Arthur.

The much smaller British man turned around just as Alfred had raised his hands up like claws and opened his mouth to make some loud noise, you didn’t particularly care. You light blonde housemate didn’t even acknowledge the attempt.

Al dropped his hands. “Come on, old man. You’re no fun.”

“I am quite a bit of fun, actually,” Arthur said, still focusing on his cupcakes, “Aren’t I, (F/n)?”

You rolled your (e/c) eyes, “Yes, Artie. You’re tons of fun.”

Said Brit pouted and turned to face you, hearing your sarcasm. You grinned sheepishly at him. Your neighbor just laughed, amused by you and Arthur both. His crimson eyes softened when they fell on you, however.

Tears came to your eyes at the happy memory, which you rubbed away with the heels of your hands.

It wasn’t Al’s fault. It was the rest of the world’s.

When you started dating the tan American, there were lots of rumors floating about him, saying things like that he was a murderer or that he should be in jail for the things he’s done.

These rumors hurt him, though he brushed them off like they were nothing.

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

After a few months with Al, you started hearing rumors about yourself and, while Arthur and Alfred told you they could care less when lies society spewed about you, you lost quite a few friends to the rumors.

And you couldn’t take it. Al was tough, but you were wearing him down with your constant sobbing and not eating. You didn’t want him to get even more hurt then he’d already been, and being his girlfriend just made it worse. You were killing him slowly, and it needed to end.

You spread your arms wide and felt the salty sea breeze surround your flushed body, sending comforting goosebumps down your skin.

“Yo!” You heard him shout loudly from behind you, “I finished unloading the junk, let’s eat!”

Grinning, you turned back to face the man of your dreams.

Alfred F. Jones didn’t really know how to comfort girlfriends or how to keep them happy.

But he did know how to make his wife happy.