ANTONY & CLEOPATRA → ALFIE SOLOMONS

comforting kisses

these next few r gonna be kind of depressing but i have a happy one in store so!!! yay!!

once i'm finished with this book, would anybody be interested in something similar for another peaky boy? i was thinking john or finn, but i'm open to suggestions!!!

hope u enjoy :-) <3

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B walks into find A sitting on the bed, shoulders shaking, cheeks wet. A looks up, face looking stricken for a moment. B is shocked, and quietly says A's name. At this, A breaks, face crumpling, and only barely has time to reach both hands out for B before B is there, kneeling at A's feet. B takes A's hands first, kissing their knuckles and palms. Then B reaches up to hold A's face, pressing soft kisses around their cheeks, their lips, murmuring "it's okay" and "you're alright" and "I'm here" in between.

Despite the tight-knit relationship you had with all your brothers, you weren't as close to them as you were to John.

Your troublesome, devious, charming brother, your knight in shining armor. No matter how old you got, John never stopped going great lengths to make sure you were happy and content. More than often was he the brother you woke up in the middle of the night after a nightmare or the brother you confided in when a boy from school was overstepping his boundaries.

Losing him was the greatest devastation you had ever faced. And yet, you had managed to keep yourself composed enough that nobody had any clue as to how badly you were hurting. Nobody but Alfie.

Three weeks had passed since John's murder, and you hadn't cried yet. In all fairness, you didn't really have the time, what with the war on the Italians and all. To you, there was never the perfect time to grieve. And you were sure there never would be.

The loss truly hit you on a Tuesday night. You were digging through the nightside table in your shared bedroom with Alfie, searching for a sheet of documentation concerning shipping and export, or the sorts. Some old thing that Alfie hadn't needed until now, and he had asked you to go off and fetch it quickly for him. You complied, not expecting your entire world to flip upside down. Not again.

You flinched when your hands brushed against cool metal, the sensation vastly different from the rough brush of parchment against the sensitive pads of your fingers. While the feeling startled you, it also enticed you, and, curiously, you closed around the strange object, pulling it out of its dark confines and bringing it to light. What you didn't expect to see was the pocket watch you'd given John on his 17th birthday—the last birthday he celebrated with you before the war.

For a brief moment, you were confused, until you recalled the funeral, which you'd fought so hard to suppress. Tommy had approached you before, pressing a kiss to your forehead before taking your hand, discreetly pressing an object into your palm. At the time, you tucked it into your pocket without thinking, and when you returned home, you disposed of it in the drawer, never expecting to see it ever again.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed you shared with Alfie, you held the watch, tears welling up in your eyes as the feel of it in your hands brought John to your mind. The dam you had built to avoid grieving came crashing down, the flood of emotion drowning you with it's waves. In no time at all, you were clutching a pillow to your chest and crying your little heart out.

This was the last thing you wanted to feel. The sense of loss, the emptiness in your chest. It felt as though God had reached down beneath your ribs and plucked out your lungs, leaving you aching for a breath that would never come.

It didn't take long for Alfie to find you. Once he saw you, shoulders shaking and face stricken with grief, he felt his heart nearly drop out of his ass. He had never seen you look so utterly destroyed. Not even when you came back from the morgue after identifying John's body.

"Oh, love."

You didn't look up at the sound of Alfie's voice, too full of shame and ache. Trying to stop the horrendous sobs from leaving your throat, you pressed your face into your pillow, trying desperately to close the rapidly emptying hole in your chest.

Feeling gentle, calloused hands on your face, you glanced up to see Alfie kneeling before you, breath catching in your throat as you saw his face stricken with fear. You hated that you were causing him such distress, but you couldn't help it. The stitches you had sewn yourself up with had fallen apart at the simple sight of a pocket-watch.

"Love," Alfie whispered, drawing you in close, lips finding your hair. "What's going on?"

You had never heard Alfie so serious and so scared in all the time you had known him. Your hands shook as they tightened around the watch, wanting Alfie to see it but also wanting to keep it to yourself.

You let out a sharp wail, full of agony, arms abandoning the pillow in favour of clutching onto Alfie and refusing to let go. Right now, the only thing keeping you tethered to this earth was him.

"I'm sorry," you gasped against his shirt, fingers clutched deep into the fabric. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what-what's happening."

"Grief is a scary thing, love," Alfie said quietly, hands stroking your back as you cried. "One minute you feel nothing and then the next thing you know, the weight of the entire world is on your shoulders."

"I-I can't do this, Alfie," you cried, pulling away from him and letting the pocket watch dangle between your fingers. "I can't do this. I can't live in a world that doesn't have my brother in it."

Alfie's hands were still holding your face—snot-nosed, red-cheeked, and wet with tears—between his hands, his eyes earnest as they looked deep into yours.

"The thing is," he whispered, forehead resting against yours. "You don't have to. Not alone, at least. After France—"

Alfie cut himself off, but you had already quieted down. It was so rare that Alfie ever spoke about his time in the war—he had been a captain, and had seen things that many had not. You weren't going to miss your chance to listen.

"In France, I never cried," he began, his voice soft and quiet but also sturdy. He didn't look in your eyes as he spoke. "I watched men lose brothers, friends, cousins. I lost friends. I lost cousins. I lost a brother. But still, I didn't cry, even while the people around me did."

You stayed quiet, letting him know it was alright to continue.

"Truth is, for a long time, I thought I was broken. Thought I had killed so many men that God took away the one thing that truly made me human." He paused. "And even after I came home, I didn't cry. Not until a month ago."

Shocked, you couldn't help but let your jaw drop. "A month?"

Alfie looked up at you, nodding. "A month. You were lying in bed beside me, sound asleep and looking like a right fucking angel. I couldn't sleep that night; something or the other was keeping me up. Then you turned over towards me, and sort of let your hand sit on top of my heart, and I swear on everything holy, I cried like a fucking infant."

You gaped. "You cried? Over me?"

"Yes, over you, you insane woman," Alfie said, a sort of grumble to his tone. "Never felt emotions like that before. And the thing is, once I started, I couldn't stop. Then the next thing I know, I'm crying over a man I killed in France whose name I didn't even know."

Unsure of what to say, you could only stare as your husband revealed to you the deepest parts of his heart.

"Alfie," you whispered, winding your arms around his neck and holding him close. You were sure his knees were beginning to ache, but you just wanted to hold him. "Holy fuck."

"Yes, quite," Alfie said quietly, his eyes meeting yours and holding them there. "But I swear I had never felt such relief before. That's the thing about pain, innit—it demands to be felt."

"Alfie," you repeated, so in awe of the man kneeling before you. "I love you."

Alfie cracked a smile, leaning forward and meeting your lips in a gentle, loving press before taking your hands and kissing each of your palms.

"I do love you," Alfie said, bringing you in for a strong hug. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm here to share the burden this cruel fucking world is offering you."

Words weren't enough to express what you were feeling; so you leaned forwards and kissed Alfie until you saw stars behind your closed eyelids.