Matthew was anxious to say the least, who wouldn't be with everything having been finalized on a house that you've tried to buy? He didn't need a fancy house, it was just going to be him living there after all, something not too big but not small either, like the numerous apartments he checked out previously. That was when he came across the duplex for sale, it was perfect, a nice neighborhood, no overwhelming pipe and structural problems with the building, he loved it. Now all that was left was to move in, which he was actually quite looking forward too, so he could officially have a place to call his own.
The next couple of days consisted of checking, and double checking that everything had been packed and nothing was forgotten in the now barren home of his childhood. Some people would say that they'd miss the place they grew up in, not Matthew, he was glad he was getting out of that place, sure there were good memories but not enough to overshadow the bad. He would rather leave everything in the past and start anew, which is exactly what he planned to do.
Unfortunately, the Canadians french father was out-of-town on business, he was a highly requested caterer so he often traveled the majority of the year, but he always made sure to keep in contact with his son, calling every couple of days. Since he never stayed in one place for too long he gave the house to Matthew. Francis wished his son good luck in the move, and apologized for not being able to be there for such a big milestone in his only son's life.
When the moving truck arrived two burly men stepped out and sauntered over and began transferring furniture, boxes and other various items into the empty space of the truck. It went by quite quickly with the three sets of hands, so they were able to head out not long after.
Matthew hopped into his generic red pickup truck, it was old, rusted, paint peeling, but it did its job, he was just grateful for that. The key was shoved into the ignition and the truck roared to life. One last glance was given to the place he used to call home, before he pulled out of the driveway ahead of the moving truck and drove towards his new life.
It took about an hour to finally arrive, it was only one town over, but with all the construction projects along the way, they had to make more detours than anticipated. When they finally turned onto the street where their destination resided, Matthew felt like an eight year old in a candy shop again, he couldn't wait any longer, everything was falling into place.
The duplex appeared on the left side of the Canadians vision, he slightly pressed on the brake till he stopped in front of the building, the moving truck pulling in behind him. Silently grateful that the street wasn't bumper to bumper with cars, it was quite vacant most likely everyone at work, it being midday on a Thursday. There was the occasional car along the tarmac, the one he parked behind was a navy blue '06 Chevrolet Impala, that he assumed belonged to the owner of the other half of the duplex, since it was parked parallel to the building Matthew would soon occupy as well.
He stepped out of his vehicle onto the pavement, locked the doors and pocketed his keys in the back pocket of his jeans. He took a minute to admire the house, two story's, an upstairs and downstairs, no basement, it was hot chocolate-brown with off-white trimmings, including the door, coal-black shingles lined the roof. A white porch was attached to the entrance, extending approximately two to three meters, the entire deck was spotless and bare. Two separate sets of stairs led from the porch to the side-walk, leading straight to the doors on opposite sides of the duplex. There was no partition separating the deck, allowing someone to be able to walk freely from one side to the other. The lawn was pristine, freshly mowed and devoid of any weeds that would tarnish it.
The sound of metal on metal caught Matthew's attention, the moving truck's container was opened, and the well-built workers were already starting to unload the contents as he approached. The Canadian grabbed the boxes he could lift himself and placed it where everything was to be deposited, on the grass.
It wasn't long after that, the front door was opened and the men started bringing in the furniture, Matthew had already decided what rooms were which, and where he wanted all the furniture to be placed. He directed the men where to put everything and soon he was just left with the boxes on the grass. They were only paid to help move in the furniture, there was no way he could do that all by himself, but he could bring the boxes and other miscellaneous items inside, so their job was done.
By now it was around one o'clock, Matthew decided that after bringing in all the left-over boxes he would head over to a nearby restaurant and get something to satisfy his growling stomach. He had forgotten to eat, too consumed in the move, but it could still be classified as lunch if he ate within the hour, couldn't it?
The Canadian bent down, gripped the bottom of the package then lifted with his knees. When he turned around he came face-to-face with metal framed bright azure eyes, they were expressive, full of laughter, and was that a hint of amusement hidden behind them? They were staring straight at him, as if they were almost able to see into his very soul, startled he stumbled back a few steps and dropped the cardboard box, all of its contents littering the ground.
"Hey there neighbor." The stranger - who he felt safe to assume to be the man who lived next to him - smirked, revealing his pearly white teeth to the world.
Now that the man was less than a foot from his face, Matthew was able to get a better view of him. He was dirty-blond, which was probably only a couple of shades darker than his own, with a cow-lick stubbornly sticking up, he was also a few inches taller than himself, so he was still able to look at him head-on without having to tilt his head to look at the mans face. He wore a brown leather bomber jacket that was beat up after years of wear-and-tear, underneath was a white shirt that trailed down to dark blue jeans, which were being held up by a black belt with an American flag buckle. His shoes where white with no scuffs or dirt - they looked brand new - and they were threaded with dark blue laces.
The man chuckled and extended his hand out toward Matthew, "the name's Alfred F. Jones, I guess we're going to be seeing each other a lot more from now on."
The American was looking out his window when he had spotted the new tenant, he saw the man step out of his beat up dull red truck, lock the door and shoved the key into his pocket. He was blond, paler than his own, and a couple of inches longer ending around his chin, there was also a stray curl that Alfred had the sudden urge to tug on it. He had delicate, pale looking skin that made his periwinkle hued eyes stand out, a little spark of innocence still remained in those eyes along with excitement, hidden behind rectangular shaped glasses. He was wearing a red hoodie, brighter than the color of his truck and definitely less dirty, he had on a white polo V-neck, reminding him of the Canadian flag minus the maple leaf. His legs were covered by stone-washed dark blue jeans while his shoes peeked out from under the pant legs revealing blood-red sneakers with white laces.
The movers had just left and Alfred, being the nice neighbor that he was, decided he would help the man bring in the rest of the boxes that remained on the lawn. He got up from the sofa, not bothering to turn the T.V off, and walked out the door.
The stranger had his back to him by the time the American crossed the lawn, when he turned around they were a mere foot apart, and those intriguing eyes were staring right back at him.
His new neighbor stumbled back a few steps after dropping the box he had been currently holding. He had a surprised look on his face, that was quickly being consumed by a light blush, causing Alfred to smirk.
Before things got any stranger between the two Alfred thought it was about time he greeted the man in-front of him, "Hey there neighbor." He stretched his hand out, with the expectation of a handshake, which he didn't immediately receive.
Confused, he thought that maybe introducing himself may prompt the other mans hand to shake his own. "The name's Alfred F. Jones, I guess we're going to be seeing each other a lot more from now on."
The blond man seemed to be knocked out of his reverie at the introduction, and stretched out his hand to clasp Alfred's in his own, "Matthew Williams."
They retracted their hands, and the American knelt down to pick up the items that tumbled out of the previously dropped box, mostly consisting of hockey helmets in varying sizes.
"What's with all the helmets?" Alfred asked as he kept placing them back inside the box.
"I coach kids of all ages hockey, most of them have never played before so I provide them with all the equipment." Matthew answered as he too helped put the helmets back.
Everything was soon packed inside the cardboard, so it was picked back up and Matthew headed toward the house. Alfred also grabbed a package nearby and followed behind the Canadian. "So you used to be a hockey player then?" Alfred inquired.
"Yeah, I played a lot when I was a kid, planned to play professionally too but my knee got injured during a game. I can still play, just not competitively so I teach children, maybe one day they'll have the same dream I did." Matthew said as he put down the box, Alfred following suit.
They both headed back outside to grab a few more packages.
"Well, with a coach that loves the game as much as you do, the kids will love it too." Alfred replied.
Matthew bent down to grab another box, "I hope so." He had just stood back up when his stomach decided to state its discomfort.
Alfred chuckled, "once we're done bringing in everything I know a great place to eat that's within walking distance."
"Yeah, alright." Matthew said, as he tried to will away the embarrassment he felt.
Both of the men continued to move the packages into the house, whilst making idle chit-chat. A few more trips was all that was needed to completely get all the boxes inside the duplex. Once that was done Matthew followed Alfred towards their destination, so he could finally silence his stomach.
"You never said what you do." He prodded, he wanted to know more about Alfred, the man knew more about Matthew than he knew about the American, so it was only fair, right?
"Oh, probably should have mentioned that, huh? Well, I work with the FBI, Special Agent Jones at your service." Alfred grinned.
The revelation caused Matthew to stumble, an FBI Agent? As in the Federal Bureau of Investigation? With actual guns and the threat of being shot? The Canadian didn't want to jump to conclusions, so he asked,"what do you have to do?"
Alfred loved his job, so he also loved to talk about it, "I investigate federal crimes by working out in the field, interviewing suspects, executing search warrants, making arrests, things like that." He explained.
It wasn't as bad as Matthew had thought, but it still seemed unsafe. "Couldn't you get injured?"
"Of course, it's always a risk for every case, but I like to help people and if that's what it takes then so be it." He informed.
The Canadian couldn't believe how nonchalant he was being, he could potentially die and he didn't even seem to care. Matthew wasn't going to pry, it wasn't his business what the man did, and they barely knew each other anyways so why should it matter?
They continued walking, Alfred providing most of the conversation, the Canadian giving his input every once an a while. When the American stopped in the middle of what he was saying to point out, "we're here."
Matthew looked up from the pavement and saw the building the other mentioned. "Alfred, it's a McDonald's."