England x Reader: When I'm With You

Summer is coming to a close. Alfred F. Jones has invited all of his friends, and even some random strangers, to spend the weekend in his mansion of awesomeness (though Gilbert refuses to acknowledge this fact, even if he knows it's true). You, being one of his best friends, are naturally invited.

Since it is about a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, most of you guys spend your time near the pool. You can't swim to save your life, though you refuse to let any of these guys know so that you won't be mocked. You simply stay in the shallow end or work on that tan you kind of don't want to get, cannonballing into the ends where your feet can touch the ground and your head can rise above the water. You play with the water guns and joke around with everyone, and a smile is always plastered on your face.

So here you are, sitting near the edge of the pool with your feet dangling over the edge and splashing the water around. You wear a light T-shirt over your bikini, slightly self-conscious, especially around so many males and with all the super-pretty females. The guys are acting crazy and fooling around, but your eyes aren't focused on the commotion around you; your gaze has found its way over to the brooding Arthur Kirkland, sitting in the shade on the back porch. He's on one of the chairs, a book in his hand, and he's completely dressed in his usual, classy attire.

He's been here since Friday morning (today is Sunday afternoon), and he hasn't come anywhere near the pool, not even when Alfred and Francis stole his book. He simply let out strings of swear words, harrumphed, and headed inside. Half an hour later, he appeared again, and this time it was with a new book and Alfred's paintball gun to shoot at anyone who tried to disturb him. He ended up shooting quite a few people, and they continued this until they tired of him and went back to the pool.

He even shot you once, but when realizing it was you, he froze for a few seconds before fumbling out an apology and lowering his eyes back to his book, his cheeks tinted in red.

"I think he can't swim," Alfred notes nosily as he sits down next to you.

"What?" you ask as you look up at him.

"Arthur, broski~" he teases you, though he's doing that because he knows of your crush on the cynical Brit. No one here seems to suspect you can't swim yourself. "I've never seen him swim, and I've known him since I was little."

"Quoi? Arthur cannot swim?" Francis asks from behind. You turn your head to watch the French "model" tanning beautifully, his sunglasses hiding his beautiful eyes from the cruel sun. He sits up and takes these sunglasses off, revealing his blue eyes. "How pathetic."

Gilbert starts to laugh annoyingly, despite his brother's request for him to shut up, and he shouts, "Arthur can't swim? Mein Gott, how totally unawesome!"

Your face is flushed for the poor Brit, and you realize your fears are confirmed. If you tell them the truth about your lack of swimming skills, they'll totally make your feel like shit. You'd have to move away from them. They'd never let you live it down if you stayed.

The laughter hurts your ears, and Gilbert is the first one to notice you haven't joined in on mocking Arthur. "What's wrong, frau? Don't you think it's funny?"

Everyone quiets down to stare at you.

Of course you don't think it's funny! You're in love with him and you can't swim!

They already know you would never laugh at anyone they made ridiculed, but they seem to have caught on to how uneasy you are.

"No," you answer softly. "Lots of people can't swim. That doesn't mean you should make fun of them." You stand, your face still pink. "I'm going inside to get something to drink. You guys want anything?"

No one says anything, confused by your sudden reaction. Normally, no one says minds when you quietly stick up for the Brit, but they seem to be very concerned today.

Maybe they're figuring out you can't swim?

"Guess not," you say as you quickly turn away from them and head towards Alfred's mansion. Your heart picks up speed as your eyes fall on Arthur, his whole being immersed into his book, but you quickly lower your gaze, and you keep it on the floor as you head in through the back door and into the kitchen. The fans are on in here, seeing as how Alfred's AC blew out this morning, and you head for the refrigerator, pulling out a cold Coke. You open the tab and take a long drink, long enough to draw a hiccup out of you, and then you sit down on the floor for a few seconds to take a few deep breaths.

You want to cry for being so pathetic, as Francis put it.

You hear some steps, and you quickly rise, trying to wipe the sorrow off your face. It's only Arthur, but you still cannot get the flip-floppy feeling that is making your stomach rampage.

"You okay, love?" he asks, and you find yourself turning an extra shade of scarlet at the word "love". "You seem kind of troubled."

"Can you swim?" you blurt out.

He gives you a weird look, let's a blush flood into his cheeks. "W-why?"

"Because they were making fun of you, saying you can't swim," you mumble as you look down at the red can in your hands. "I don't like it when they fun of you—of…of anyone, I mean." You place the can on the counter as you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, rising your eyes carefully. "It just…it makes me feel really…mean. So I left."

"They always make fun, poppet," he murmurs as he steps forward, and his hand catches your cheek, his thumb massaging it gently. "Don't worry. I've learned not to care."

He says that, but you know their remarks hurt. Besides, he wouldn't have such wild reactions if he truly didn't care. His reactions are what make him such an easy target to satisfy their cruel hunger. He makes it so easy for them to pick on him.

"You shouldn't care either," he tells you gently before his hand drops. "They'd never make fun of you, so why does it matter?"

You look away as your blush grows, sending your gaze back out to the pool. All of the guys are still there, acting as inane as ever, but you just can't shake their words.

"That…that isn't just it," you confess all of a sudden. You need to tell someone before you explode. "I can't swim," you whisper out as your eyes meet his again. "And having them tease you like that…well, it also made me feel like they were saying that to me. I mean, they don't know that I can't swim but…" Your hand grabs his, the one that touched your face. "Don't tell them. Please…don't tell anyone. I would die from embarrassment."

He catches your expression, a mixture of horror and apprehension, your eyes widened as far as they'll go, and he nods softly. "Of course not, love. Why would I do such a terrible thing to you? I'd never want to hurt you."

He means it because you're the nicest person to him, possibly. You don't make fun of him, not even of his food, and you've even tried it, enjoyed some of it and lied through your teeth about the other. You always go out of your way to be nice to him, and you're pretty sure he's grown aware of your feelings for him. Sure, he hasn't said a word about it, but that's because he's a gentleman.

"Thank you," you tell him as you swiftly let his hand go and grab your Coke, forcing on a bubbly smile. "I should get back before anyone worries. Later, Arthur. I hope you enjoy your book."

You are quick to exit the kitchen, headed back for the pool.

"Yo, (name), you're back!" Alfred cheers before throwing his arms around you. "Oh, and you brought back some Coke! Yum!" He takes it from you, not even caring that it isn't Diet Coke, which he always chooses so he can be "healthy".

You simply laugh before you find yourself a chair and sit back, trying to enjoy the partying.

***

Todays' worse than yesterday. The guy who was supposed to fix the AC still isn't here, and you're pretty sure you left the bed soaked with your sweat.

You are going to try to avoid the pool today, you decide, and maybe spend some time with Arthur. You know he won't mind, and you don't think the guys will entirely mind either. You decide to pull on some shorts and a tank as you head down for breakfast.

Afterwards, you find Arthur in his usual spot and ask, "Do you mind?" as you point to a chair beside him.

"N-no," he says. "Of course not. Go ahead, l-love."

You smile and sit down, looking over at his book. "What book is it today, Captain?"

He turns red when you use "captain", referring to how when he was younger, he use to pretend he was a pirate and preferred to be referred as "Captain Arthur Kirkland". He says he's left that boyish fantasy behind, but you're not entirely sure.

"I…I have to choose one," he stutters, though he quite clearly holds a book in his hand. He looks like he's trying to hide it. "M-maybe I should go and get one." He stands up all of a sudden and nearly runs back inside, running into Ludwig. The book flies out of his hand. "P-pardon me," Arthur tells the taller, stronger man.

You stand and head for the book, picking the thin thing up. How to Get Others to Like You, the title reads, and you blush for him yourself.

The poor guy. It must be exhausting to be so tsundere and seemingly unwanted.

You notice that there's a page that has been doggy-eared, and you flip to it. How to Get the Girl of Your Dreams. You slam the book shut, realizing that there is, in fact, someone that Artie's in love with, and you're not sure if you should feel exultant or miserable.

Maybe it's you, maybe not. It could easily be Michelle, seeing as how she is so incredibly pretty and just about every guy seems to like her. Why not Arthur as well? He has always seemed to go out of his way to talk to her, and this thought of him liking her has been in you forever, even before you started crushing on him. Besides, you're pretty sure she might like him back, even if only a little bit. She has mentioned that he has beautiful eyes, and his gentlemanly behavior is quite attractive.

But she still laughs when others deride him.

You turn back to Arthur, frozen in horror at your newfound discovery, and you hand him the book. Ludwig has already moved on, and he's by the pool now. Ludwig also has a book in his hands, and even if he's also tsundere, everyone seems to like him, even you.

But you like everyone. You hate making people feel awful.

"You…you don't need a book to tell you how to make friends. People already like you, you know," you tell him.

"I…I know that," he says before he snatches the book away. "S-someone told me that it's good. I was just…I was making sure!" Flustered, he hurries away from you.

You sit down, feeling like a total fool. Maybe your words seemed a bit condescending to him, or maybe they made him sound like you pitied him. That would definitely make him run away, as if you were making fun of him yourself. Of course, that was not your intention when you told him he didn't need friends. You were trying to console him, trying to show him that even without a book, people still cared about him…like you.

But he knows you like him, doesn't he? It's so painfully obvious, all the people you're friends with tease you about it. Even if he can't read your emotions or see through your actions, he should have heard about it.

So maybe you're just not what he's looking for.

It has to be Michelle that he's in love with because he'd have no problem confessing to you. Everyone and their mothers are aware of your feelings for Arthur.

You sit down in the chair quietly, glancing over at everyone trying to cool off by the pool. You look at the girls, with their beautiful bodies and their adorable bikinis, and you find yourself fuming. They have tons of guys after them, all wanting their numbers and messaging them online and spending all their time with them. You…you're "one of the guys".

No guy is ever going to want to look your way, not for romance.

You've always been everybody's friend, but you've never been anybody's girlfriend.

"(N)-(name)?" You turn to Arthur who has returned, clutching The Canterbury Tales in his hands. That's your favorite piece of English literature, but you're not sure anyone knows or cares about that. Why would they? It's just a book. "You're still here? You don't want to hang out with the others?"

"If…if you don't want me to hang out with you, that's fine. You seemed lonely, is all." You realize what you've said, and you mentally smack yourself. "No, no! That…that came out wrong! I mean…you…you're a great guy, and I think it's fun hanging out with you too…but…but you must know that. You have to know that. I just…I…" Your tongue is tied now, and you're not sure what to say. You're pretty confident anything else you say to him will just be you sticking your foot in your mouth again. "I'm…I am going to go now. Have fun with…your book. It's an absolutely great book, in my opinion." Like he cares about your opinion. "I…I'm…later."

You basically whip yourself around, and you force yourself to walk casually towards the pool, though you want to run down to it and maybe past it, past the basketball court and the yard and maybe into the woods.

Your face is entirely too red right now. How can you face anyone like that?

"Yes! (Name) is back!" Alfred shouts in joy.

"She's finally left that bloody jerk face!" Peter Kirkland, Arthur's little brother, shouts in glee. "Did you come back to play with me?"

"Of course I—"

You're cut off by Gilbert's laugh, and suddenly, he grabs you by the waist, throwing you on his shoulder. "You've been avoiding the deep end, frau! How unawesome!"

"Are you scared of the deep end?" Peter asks.

You want to scream you are, seeing as how it is ten feet deep over there, but you've found your voice doesn't work anymore. You've simply clamped up in horror.

"Gilbert, stop being a Dummkopf," Ludwig says. "Let her go."

"You can't tell me what to do!" Gilbert shouts at the top of his lungs. "Now, frau, we're going to see if you can really swim!"

And then a shriek erupts from you, from somewhere deep inside you, just as he throws you in. "I can't—" you manage out before you hit the water at full force, rocketing towards the bottom. Your back manages to touch the floor, though it doesn't hurt, and you start to panic, flailing wildly as you try to get to the top.

You're basically treading water here, and your eyes hurt from all the chlorine. You can't breathe, and you keep accidentally inhaling large amounts of water. Your rapid movement, your sore eyes—they all prevent you from seeing anything, and when you finally manage to get yourself moving, you end up smacking your head right against the side of the pool.

There are the vibrations of something hitting the water, you realize, and a shadow can be seen above you, but soon everything blacks out.

***

There's something warm on your lips.

Maybe you're sleeping. Maybe this is heaven. That has to be why it feels like someone is kissing y—

Water forces itself out of you, and you find yourself coughing out large amounts as you shoot up, nearly hitting your head against the forehead of your savior.

He catches your face before that.

Your eyelids flutter open, revealing the emerald eyes of Arthur. His blonde hair has darkened with the water, sticking to the side of his face as fat droplets roll down, some getting caught and lost within his adorably large eyebrows. His clothing, which includes dress pants and a loose T-shirt, are entirely soaked with pool water.

His hands are soft, and they hold your face tenderly. "Love, (name), are you okay? How badly does your head hurt, sweet?" It's painful to hear these words coming out of his mouth, words of affections he probably doesn't mean. "(Name)?" he asks as his fingertips brush a bump on the side of your forehead. "Are you all right?"

Physically, yes. Maybe a little sore, and your chest still hurts a bit from that water, but you'll be fine. Emotionally, however, you're in turmoil. His lips were on yours, he's talking all sweetly to you, but you're just his friend.

To him, it may mean very little, but to you, it means the world.

And that is what is so excruciating.

There is a flicker of something in his eyes. "You should have been more careful, then." He sounds annoyed. He has every right to be. He had to jump into a pool to save you, obviously. "You should have told them you couldn't swim. Who cares if they make fun of you as long as you're safe?" He lets you go, lowering his guys. "For such a smart girl, you can definitely be a bloody idiot, (name)."

"(Name)!" a German-accented voice shouts. Gilbert. "Es tut mir leid! I just wanted to know if you could swim! I would have totally jumped in if you couldn't, but frau, I couldn't see anything with all the movement of the water." He rubs a bruise that he surely must have gotten from his brother due to his stupidity. "I wasn't sure if anything was wrong until Arthur jumped in to save you."

So Artie can swim. It's just you who is pathetic enough to be twenty-one and still unable to even doggy paddle.

"He told us how you can't swim, (name)," Alfred says softly. "We're sorry, babe," he murmurs as he pushes Arthur away, pulling you into your arms. "You should've told us first. We totally would have taught you or at least protected you from the drowning." He manages a grin before wrapping a towel around you. "You know the hero always delivers, babe."

"Artie gave you CPR!" Peter feels the need to exclaim.

You already know that, you want to say, and so does everyone else.

"I…I was the only one qualified to do it," Arthur blurts, and he seems extremely irate. "Besides, all of these idiots were all glued to their spots. Someone had to save you."

And everyone watches you, expecting you to thank him, but you're too embarrassed and hurt to say anything.

Maybe everything's not as physically well with you as you thought. You want to throw up due to all that chlorine, and your mixed feelings about Arthur aren't helping.

You shoot up, and even if your knees are shaking, you find yourself racing to your room. You throw the door shut after you've entered, and you collapse into your bed, pulling the covers around you.

You're not sure if you should cry or thank the stars. You don't know if you should feel terrible about Arthur's lack of emotions towards you, personally, or if you should feel wonderful about how he saved you, even gave you mouth-to-mouth.

The door opens, revealing Arthur. He shuts the door gently, and as he crosses over to you, he asks, "You didn't want me to save you, did you?" You grip your pillow as you feel the weight of him on the edge of your bed. His hand finds his way to your hair, and he strokes it gently. "You're entirely too sweet. It's so obvious why everyone likes you so much." His fingers get tangled in your hair, but he doesn't seem to care. "You know, it's all right to be mean to me. I'm used to it, love."

You turn your face to him. "Thank you."

"For what, sweet?"

"For saving me, of course." You manage to sit up as you take the leap of faith. "I wasn't kidding when I said that you don't need to worry about people liking you. That wasn't pity."

"Then what was it, poppet?"

"The truth," you find yourself murmuring, and he seems to stop breathing when your lips brush against his. "You must know how I feel, Arthur." One of your arms sneaks itself around his neck. "I've been in love with you for the longest of times."

He doesn't protest. He kisses you back, letting the kisses get fiercer, sweeter. His free arm ends up on your waist as his body pushes you back on the bed and he gets on top, deepening the kiss.

This is your first kiss (first few, actually), and it's so perfect, better than you could imagine it.

"I've loved you since we were kids," he tells you.

And you rip yourself away from him. "What?" you ask. Nothing is adding up inside your brain. "But…I thought you like Michelle?"

He pulls his arms away from you. "I…I was asking her for advice on getting you to like me back. I've been pressing her for years. Nothing she's said ever seemed to work…"

You sit there, thinking back on all the years. You think of the flowers he once brought her when you and her were hanging out…or were they for you? You think of how he always seems to be reading The Canterbury Tales; that's your favorite book, and Michelle knows that. She must've told him so that he could impress you or something. You think of the tickets you once found in front of your front door to see your favorite singer; you had thought someone lost them, but since you didn't know who and would have felt bad if you used someone's tickets that they had spent eighty dollars on, you never used them. Strings of incidents of these in the past years… Well, it really should have been obvious to you, right?

"Everyone knows how I feel about you, Arthur," you blurt. "Alfred teases me all the time about it. How could you not know?"

"I…I heard rumors, but I figured Alfred spread them or something because he figured how madly in love I was. I…I didn't think they were true. I mean, why would you like someone like me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" You grab his face as you pull him in for another kiss. "I love everything about you, Arthur Kirkland. I'm the happiest when I'm with you."

***
Extended Ending:

"Are you done taking photos, Kiku?" Alfred whispers nosily to his Japanese friend.

"I knew our plan would work!" Gilbert cheers silently. "Natürlich. Denn ich bin genial."

"Duh! Because the hero always makes things work!"

"How did they not know for years that they rike each other?"

"Dunno, broski. They're so stupid when it comes to themselves."

"I think we'll see some action! Gut! Kiku, you can film this, ja?"