It was on a dreary, rain-ruined day that I first saw you. I was sitting at the café on the corner of West and Main—you know the one, with the yellow door and the crooked sign I never brought up, though it bothered me to no end. Neither of us paid attention to the other at first; why would we? You were just another face in the crowd, and I a filler for the background of your theatrical life. I was unaware of the result that seeing you would cause, and now that I think about it, I should have known that you were special.

For a while the rain had subsided and the sun peered out from behind the clouds, something of a good omen for anyone who had to commute to work. You had thought that it was safe to venture outside, but began to sprint as the downpour resumed without warning, hands clutching on to a sodden newspaper over your blond hair. The shoes you had on were drenched as you tread through a pothole full of muddy water. That made you pause long enough to drop the paper in defeat and curse at the faulty road, animatedly gesturing at the inanimate objects that upset you.

Basking in the warmth of my tea, inhaling its sweet scent deeply as though it alone would wake me, I smirked at you, chuckling internally at your misfortune. I thought about how difficult it must have been for you, not an inkling of guilt in my mind whatsoever, as I took a sip of the liquid in my cup.

After several seconds of stomping your feet on the ground like a tantrum-throwing toddler, I saw you sigh, your shoulders slumping forward. You weren't as miffed as you were beaten down. I wish I would have known that the world had tossed you aside back then. Maybe I would have ran out and offered you my coat instead of laughing at your misery and how charming you were when you got mad. I didn't know that you were crying, I swear it. The rain concealed it so well, and even when your body trembled as the sobs began, I brushed it off, assuming that the cold must have had you shivering.

Just like that, you turned away from me so that I could watch as you went, breaking into a swift jog. I smiled a little, half-hoping you would eventually find happiness since the morning had been negatively eventful. I wished that things would look up for you and then pushed all thoughts of you out of my head, presuming that I would never see you again.

As I resumed the mental list of what I had to accomplish, my tea did not seem as amorous to me anymore. It was weak and already getting cold—I should not have trusted that an American could make a decent spot of tea. I didn't know how I did not realise what a terrible cup it was before. Then again, your mere presence had always made me see things in a different light. Now that I have had time to reflect, I never got the chance to properly thank you for making life seem so alive.

Every night for over three months, I dreamt about you. At first you only appeared as I thought you were; a shadow, a passerby in a sea of others. I did not realise that you were even there until I thought about it later. As time passed, you became more and more tangible, gradually taking over a bigger part of the picture as though you demanded that I recognised your importance. More often than not, you played simple characters that lacked development, aiding in helping move the scene along, but serving no higher purpose. Sometimes you were a waiter, others a passenger on the train, and once you were the best man at my wedding to a women I thought I loved. I'll admit that you were a welcome addition to my fantasies.

After I woke, there would be a smile on my face, and I could never place why. I did not even know you. Everything I thought I knew was a figment of my imagination, from your dazzling white smile and the delicate, tinkling laughter I heard frequently, to the way your skin felt as it brushed mine. All of it was fabricated out of the memory of your face and the mannerisms of countless others that I had unconsciously thrown together. Yet I didn't care that you were some fantastical Frankenstein. I had loved you all the same.

It was on my birthday almost four months after I first saw your face that we finally met. You were running late as you always were. If only you had the good sense to watch where you were going, you would have darted right by instead of straight into me. The force about knocked me over, you were so strong. As I prepared to call you every foul name I knew, I looked up to see the blushing, horrified expression you wore and realised that you were literally the man of my dreams.

Your messy blond hair shone like sunshine on the overcast day, a single strand in the front sticking up for some odd reason. With a frenzied hand, you readjusted your glasses which had nearly fallen off in the collision, and the other clutched onto my shirt in order to steady us both. There was a pause as I was baffled to have found you completely by chance and I swore I saw a spark of curiosity in your eyes once you had time to register what you ran into. Your eyes were bluer than the most beautiful ocean and more radiant than I could ever hope to be.

"I'm so, so sorry, dude. I am such a major klutz!"

"It's quite alright, lov–" I, too, flushed, realising my mistake. I was so accustomed to seeing you that it hardly felt like our first meeting. "It was my fault. My apologies."

It truly was your fault, but I was not about to admit that. You knew the truth anyway. I was amused by how embarrassed you were, stuttering out an apology that wasn't needed. Midway through your sentence you realised I wasn't listening, just smiling. The words fell off your tongue rapidly so that you could get out what you needed to say. Were it anyone else, I would have been easily annoyed by your loud, obnoxious—and may I add—improper language. However, I was thrilled that I finally knew what your voice sounded like.

"Really, it's fine. No harm done...?"

You looked mortified, having forgotten to give me your name. "Alfred! My name, I mean. Alfred Jones."

"A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Alfred. I am Arthur Kirkland."

For the first time in reality, I saw your smile and my heart sped up like I had been the one running. I instantly knew that I was in love with you. All I could do was stare, transfixed by my realisation, thinking about what it could possibly mean. I needed to reflect over a nice cup of tea. Honestly, I dreaded the coffee you Americans were accustomed to drinking, but I figured that you would enjoy it, so I used it as an excuse to ask you out, worried that I would miss my opportunity if I didn't come up with something soon.

"Would you perhaps like to go for some coffee?"

Though I had meant at a more convenient time, you grinned and nodded excitedly. "Yeah, sure! I was on my way to… but you know what, I can skip it."

Trying to keep the faint smile off my face, I could not believe that lame pickup line actually worked. "Well, alright, then."

We conversed about pleasant things for a while, neither of us knowing where we were going while forgetting about where we should have been. You had a cheery disposition and were more boisterous than I would have imagined. I had you figured for the shy, quiet type; however you proved me wrong as you ranted on and on about your favourite rock band that was touring soon. I cherished every word you spoke. After several minutes of this, you broke off suddenly, asking me if you were talking too much. It was evident that you were nervous, about as much as I was. I assured you that your rambling was not so overwhelming that it irked me. You grinned again.

You weren't the most level-headed person I'd ever met, but I quickly discovered that you had a kind heart and the desire to be everyone's hero, just like the ones you read about in comic books as a child. A tragic past lingered behind your warm smile and ambitious nature. When I asked about your parents, you tried to shrug off the question. I did not push you because it was obviously a touchy subject. The conversation lulled a bit.

"It's just that I didn't know my parents," you said finally. "My older brother raised me, but we had sort of a falling out once I graduated high school. I wanted my independence. He wanted to control me. So I left. I haven't seen him since."

Before we could lapse into an uncomfortable silence, I shared more about myself. "My father was a raging alcoholic and my mum died shortly after I turned twelve. I lived with my cousin, who is a complete arse, by the way, just so I could get away. He was always comparing the two of us—who had been with more women, could drink more, and the like—making me feel like I was less than he was. When I left for university, I moved here."

The little café with the yellow door and the crooked sign crossed our path and since we had no set destination, I suggested that we take a table inside, you agreed. We sat at the only available table by the window that overlooked busy Main Street, taking a few moments to people watch, adjusting to the unpleasant change in topic. After a mother strolled by with her infant in a carriage, smiling down at him with so much love I could hardly stand it, I glanced at you, and found that you were enthralled by the simplistic display, smiling sadly at her. You turned back to me like the longing wasn't in your heart, that the deep yearning for your own mother was not tearing you to shreds on the inside.

As you opened your mouth to speak, a rather rude waitress interrupted you, leaning with her elbows on the table in an obvious attempt to flirt with you, batting her fake eyelashes repeatedly. She was beautiful with fiery hair, and young—clearly not my cup of tea—though I was worried that she could have been yours. I rolled my eyes, but you didn't seem to even notice her. You leaned away from her to smile at me, something devious in your brilliant blue eyes.

"What will you have, handsome?" She made sure you had a full view of her breasts. I internally scoffed at how American the twit was.

"My boyfriend wants coffee, black," you said with enthusiasm. "And I'll have… an Earl Grey tea. That sounds totally awesome."

The waitress's face dropped and she stood up like an actual person. She looked disappointed to say the least. I stifled my laughter with a cough as you continued grinning at her expectantly. None of us said another word. After she scribbled down our order, she walked away, the spring that was present in her step before gone without a trace. You smirked at me like you deserved an award for being so terribly cliché. I was secretly glad you did that, even if that made me unsure as to whether that meant you were interested in men, and more importantly, interested in me.

"She does that every time I come in. I think she needs a new hobby."

"I am sorry to disappoint you, but I don't drink coffee, Alfred."

Your smile became cleverer in nature. "I know, dude. The coffee is mine. The tea is for you. Don't look surprised, Artie, you're totally British!"

I didn't bother to question why you switched our orders and simultaneously hid my cringe at the god awful nickname you called me. You did not seem to be the logical type as I was, so I figured it was better to leave it be. There were more pressing matters at hand. I went out on a limb. "What does your boyfriend do?"

"My ex was into video games, I guess. He was kind of a deadbeat. What about your… girlfriend?"

"Ah, yes, my boyfriend and I split up last year when he moved to Canada and I stayed here."

There was a hopeful gleam in your electric blue eyes, at least, I assumed it was hope, or perhaps I had wished that it was. I now know that it was something close if not the real thing, which still makes me smile at the memory of our first date. That is what you called it, anyway, the fated meeting we had on the intersection of 3rd Avenue and Main Street. It was mere blocks from where I saw you crying in the rain, though I still had no idea that that is what you had done. I could not imagine you ever being melancholy with your cheery outlook on life. You beamed so brightly that it put the sun to shame.

"Well, that's fantastic!"

I looked at you incredulously. "How is that in any way fantastic?"

"Oh… um, you know, bro…" Face flushed a timid pink, you were at a loss for an explanation and your sentences ended on a high note like a question. "Long distance relationships suck?"

"Yes, I suppose they do."

The slutty waitress returned bearing our drinks and she set mine down a bit too forcefully, which caused much of the coffee to spill over the rim, yet the tea, that was actually mine, remained perfectly intact. I wonder why, I thought with a roll of my eyes. You promptly swapped the cups as she turned away with a pout, not even bothering to fake an apology for her atrocious behavior. Then is when I understood what you had done. You didn't seem too bothered by her, taking a large gulp of what was left in your mug.

"Told you she does this all the time." You took another long, slow sip, looking at the tabletop. "I'm the hero," you said smugly with your bottom lip still pressed to the mug.

I chuckled dryly, to make you think I was not engrossed with you, to push you away, though the gesture was much appreciated. The dilemma was that I wasn't sure if I could handle letting you close only to have you ripped away. There was something between us, an inexplicable connection, no reasoning behind why I had grown attached to someone I had just met. I felt mad, wanting you as badly as I did and having nothing to show for it. My feelings appeared to be entirely one-sided at the time.

After arguing over who would pay, you leapt up, heading straight for the door, and I thought that I had driven you away with my foul mouth and equally unpleasant attitude. You waltzed up to that airhead that called herself a server at one of her other tables and handed her enough to cover the check, coming back only to grab my hand and yank me out of my seat with that inhuman strength you possessed. I cursed at you, demanding that you explain what it was you thought you were doing. I did not receive an answer.

When you laughed, it was in no way delicate nor proper as I had dreamt it would be. Actually, in all honesty, I found it as obnoxious as your overwhelming personality, but I thought it was equally as endearing. Your cackle pervaded the otherwise silent café and followed us onto the street. The sunlight caught your golden hair and I instantly forgot about how annoyed I was with you. You were smiling again, showing me your brilliantly white teeth. Everything about you was perfect. Tall, tan, and handsome, I could not imagine that someone such as yourself simply came into being that flawless. Even your eyes appeared too blue, too bright, to be real. I blushed when you caught me looking at you.

"Next she would have spilled your drink on you. I wanted to leave before she did. That would have ruined our date!"

"D-date?"

"Yeah, dude. You're the one that asked me out! I had a totally awesome time, but I've really gotta get going. I'm, like, really late now."

I suppose I looked disappointed because you cupped my face with your hand and brought our lips together. All of the blood in my body rushed to my cheeks in that moment and I was afraid that you could feel the heat radiating off of my skin. The kiss was faint, so light that I was left unsatisfied, but I was not expecting even that much and was pleasantly surprised. You burst into a grin once we parted. My face was on fire, ears and neck prickling painfully, and I glanced at something behind you as to not look you in the eye. For some reason, you took this to mean that you could kiss me again, pressing harder this time. I could not complain about that. Still, I blushed furiously.

"I'll call you, Arthur. Thanks for the coffee."

"You paid for it, idiot."

"Yeah, but only 'cause I ran you over. I'm glad I did." Only then did you blush slightly. "Oh, I need your number!"

I readily gave you the information, my mind still reeling from our kisses. "Thank you for everything, Alfred."

"No problem, dude. I gotta go. I'll see you around!"

You were far too enthusiastic about everything, sprinting about wherever you went and talking people's ears off like some brat experiencing a sugar rush. Nonetheless, I could not help loving this version of you even more than the one I had manufactured. Perhaps it was due to the fact that you were finally a real, living person and not the imaginary impression I had before. Maybe I was blinded by love. That was also a possibility.