Not All Stories... ch 2

Three days passed, and it was now Tuesday.

Arthur hurried around the house, fixing his cloths, combing his hair, even cleaning up his nails, just making sure he looked good. He felt like a woman fussing over his appearance so much.

Monica watched as he attempted to tame his wild hair. "Why are you so concerned over how you look?" she asked, "You've never cared about it before."

"Well honey, you know how crucial first impressions can be. I like to make good ones." He said.

Yes, that was part of it, but something else was factoring in. When Arthur thought about Alfred, a warm, fluttering feeling his stomach. He hardly knew the man, but just thought that something made him special.

The eyes…that's diffidently something, Alfred's eyes. They sparkled so casually. They just drew you in and made you want to befriend him. Arthur was in no way an exception.

"Ugh. Damn it! Why won't this work!" he yelled suddenly in frustration, slamming the hairbrush he was struggling to use down. This always happened. No matter how hard he tried, he could never get his golden mess of hair to look even the least bit decent.

If anything, brushing made it more disheveled.

Giggling softly, Monica began to massage her fiancée's shoulders. She found that doing so would often help ease his short temper.

"Sweetie, you look magnificent. You always do." She ran her fingers through his mess of hair. "I don't get why you're working so hard, but if it's important to you, we'll wet your hair down or something. You shouldn't brush it though. Your hair makes you look so childish. It's simply adorable!"

Again, the sentence ended in that dreaded squeal, and Arthur had to hold in a groan.

"So why do you like this man so much?" she asked while patting Arthur's hair to get it to stay.

The blonde shrugged, "Not sure really. I think it's his eyes." Monica stiffened up.

"…His eyes?" she asked in a whispery voice, "You, not only noticed, but took a liking to another man's eyes?"

Smoothing out his jacket and hair one last time, Arthur responded, "Yes. W-why, is there something wrong with that?"

His fiancée looked like she was thinking for a bit, but then relaxed. "No dear, not at all. Have a good time now!" she called as he exited.

~Time Skip~

Now outside the coffee shop, Arthur hesitated. It was 4:15, the exact time they agreed on. Was he too on time? Is that a real thing?

He didn't want to be waiting, and then have Alfred think he was desperate to see him…which he wasn't!

Wait – he was just worrying about coming off desperate…

Bloody hell, what was he, a fifteen year old girl? No. Arthur Kirkland does not fret over such trifle things.

But-but what if Alfred forgot, or wasn't serious? And then he'd feel like an idiot just standing there, waiting for someone who'd never come.

…And we're back to being like an adolescent on her fist date. This wasn't even a date. It was a get together with a man Arthur found interesting. 'Pull yourself together.'  Arthur scolded himself.

'Okay, just go in, order a coffee, wait fifteen minutes or so, and if he doesn't come, just go home back to your wife to be.'   

Yes, that would work.

Arthur started to walk inside. When he got inside, he wasn't surprised to see a more than decent amount of people, all chatting or eating. However, he was surprised to see Alfred, sprawled out in a chair, looking in disgust at a scone with a single bite out of it.

The gentleman couldn't stop the smile that spread across his lips. He went up to the counter and ordered tea this time. Then, he strolled over to where Alfred sat.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Alfred looked up. "Oh, hey man." He said casually, "Wasn't sure if you'd actually show up." 'Heh, same for me.' Arthur thought about saying, but decided against it.

With a grin still on his face, the Brit took a seat in the leather chair across the table.

A few awkward moments of silence passed. The two men just looked at each other, occasionally taking sips of their drinks. They weren't really sure what to talk about.

Out of the blue, suddenly Alfred's eyes grew, and he slapped a hand to his forehead. Arthur raised a bushy eyebrow* in a questioning look. "What?" he asked.

The American chuckled lightly. "Well, it's just," he moved his hand to look at the man across from his sheepishly, "I just realized I have no clue what your name is."

Arthur felt like doing the same thing Alfred had. He had never given the man his name. Why hadn't he done that in the bloody first place?

"O-oh. Of course, I apologize, how rude of me. My name is Arthur Kirkland." Alfred's grin that seemed to be glued to his face grew. It was amazing how upbeat the man was. It really affected people around him.

"That's fine." He said, "Hey, I didn't even know your name, but to be honest, from the little information I have on you, I really like you." Arthur averted his gaze as he blushed. "I-I like you too." What was he saying? All he knew was about the man was his name and why he was here. Why was he acting like this?

"S-so how old are you Alfred?" Arthur asked, trying to break the tension he felt. Judging by Alfred's height, Arthur would guess he's about twenty – five.

The darker haired one took a sip of his coffee before answering. "Oh, I'm nineteen." "N-nineteen?" The shorter sputtered. Bloody hell, this man (he could just barely be called that yet.) was younger than he was! Well, only by one year, but still!

"Yeah, nineteen. Why, how old are you?" Alfred asked.

Arthur quickly regained his composure. "Well, it's just I'm twenty, and I wasn't expecting you to be younger than me. You're pretty bloody tall."

Scratching the back of his neck, Alfred said, "Don't be offended or anything, but I'm not that tall. You're just kinda short." "I am not!" the Brit exclaimed. There were two things that really ticked him off.  Those were when people insulted his (horrendous) cooking skills, and when people talked about his height. Alright, maybe he was rather short, so what?

Alfred snickered, looking amused at the other's outburst. This didn't go unnoticed. Arthur gave his signature pout he did when he was feeling insulted, or being stubborn. Monica often described it as, "the cutest thing that anyone has ever done in the history of forever".

The American stopped what he was doing when he saw it and gasped, instantly turning red…okay, that's never happened before.

A strange atmosphere had settled around them, so Arthur decided to get rid of it. "Uh, Alfred, do you have any family here with you, or did you come alone?"

Cheeks now a slightly lighter shade, Alfred responded, "Actually, my uncle lives here, I moved in with him. But back in America I lived with my mom, dad, brother, his name's Matthew, and my grandma lives with us now. Soooo~ do you have your own apartment, or do you live with your parents?"

'Oh God.'  Arthur sighed. For some reason he always hated explaining this to people. One thing always led to another, and they always got so damn excited…or weirded out, depending on how far the conversation went.

He drew in air and let it out before saying, "Well, I live in a house my parents bought for me."

Alfred nodded. "That's sweet man. Yeah, I'm saving up for an apartment. There's one I have my eye on right now. It's small, but it's something. How big is your house?"

'Ugh, here we go.' "Oh it's…decent sized." Arthur just couldn't lie. No matter how hard he tried, everyone saw through every single one of his fibs.

"…I don't know why, but something tells me it's not that." Alfred said…of course he did. "Arthur, if it's small, there's nothing to be ashamed of." Alfred gave a real, genuine smile. His gorgeous eyes sparkled with care.

Was this real? This man who Arthur had met just a few days ago, and was only speaking to for the second time was treating him with such kindness. The Englishman felt…good.

"Besides, it's probably not much worse than the apartment I want." Alfred had continued "So go on, just tell me."

Arthur sighed for what seemed like the millionth time that day. There was no way in hell he could lie, and it wasn't like the truth would hurt anyone, it was just kind of weird. So fine. "Alright, it's a mansion. A big, bloody mansion."

The other man's eyes widened and his jaw hung loose. "A mansion? Seriously, you're not kidding?" Arthur shook his head in answer. "Aww, dude that's epic! Man, how rich are your mom and dad? What do they do?"

The sandy blonde chuckled a bit unenthusiastically, "W-well my mum inherited a company from my granddad, and my father is a plastic surgeon. Together they make quite a bit. Mother makes most of it though."

Oh no, he should not have mentioned that last part. "What kind of company does she own?" Alfred asked.

"…" Arthur groaned inwardly. This was the part he hated the most. "…My mother's company makes…ugh…sex toys."

Once again, Alfred's eyes went wide. "…Wow …and she makes most of the money?" Arthur put his head in one of his hands. "Yes, it's a very successful business apparently."

"Ha! That's just great." The blue eyed man giggled. "You're so lucky. I'll bet you'll never have to work, huh?"

Arthur shrugged, "Well, right now I don't have to, but I have a job at a local book store. When my mother retires though, I got to take care of the company. But until then, I like the job I have. Literature is kind of my passion. When I was younger-"

He stopped once he realized he was ranting. However Alfred grinned and silently waved a hand to say, go on, keep talking. "Uh, when I was younger I used to write stories. Back then I thought I was going to be the next Charles Dickens. Now that I'm older, I look back at them and realize they're pretty awful."

Alfred laughed, "That's interesting. I never really got into books and stuff. But I might like to read yours though. Even if you did write them when you were little." Wow, no one had ever said anything like that before. Sure Monica said she loved his stuff…when she was seven. "Thanks." Arthur said, not sure what else to do.

"Are you making money, or relying on your family?" The emerald – eyed one asked. The younger answered, "A bit of both. My mom and dad gave me some money, and my uncle's helping me out a little. But I have a job as a waiter. The pay's okay. I'm making enough, you know."

Arthur nodded. "So," Alfred began again, "is it lonely living in that huge house all by yourself?" "Oh no," The Englishman said, "I'm not alone. I live with my fiancée, Monica."

Suddenly, Alfred completely froze. A look of shock, and even small hints of horror, were all over his face. "… You have a fiancée?" he asked. His voice was soft, but sounded sad for some reason.

Now uncomfortable, Arthur responded, "Umm, yes. I've been engaged for a while now." He didn't think it was necessary to say it was arranged. What difference would it make?

Taking in a shaky breath, Alfred set down his, now cool coffee. "Is that so?" He seemed to be zoned out. The smile he always wore was gone, replaced with a slightly saddened frown.

"A-are you alright, Alfred?" asked Arthur, now worried. "Yeah, I'm fine." The younger responded, though he didn't look like it. His voice was much happier than his face…which wasn't saying much at all. And neither could come close to how terrible he felt. Of course, Arthur didn't know that.

Alfred slowly stood up. "I'm sorry Arthur, I need to leave. I'm sure I'll see you around." "Okay Alfred. G-good – bye I guess." What did he do? Why was Alfred leaving just like that?

As he was about to leave the table they were sitting at, Alfred said something. "Your fiancée, Monica was it," he hung his head, just a little, but Arthur noticed, "she's a very lucky woman." And the American walked away.

Poor Arthur didn't know exactly what had happened; just that he didn't like it.

.  .  .

**gasp* I don't think I've mentioned Iggy's eyebrows yet. Well that shall change!...probably.