The school's most popular pair, two blonds of opposite hairstyles and aspects, walked down the hallways of which they practically owned. The taller one, with longer and better nourished fair colored locks, linked arms with the other rather unamused boy with the inclement lighter blond hair. He stylishly brushed back his golden strands and turned to the other boy.
"Hey, Arthur," his thick French accent caught the attention of him.
"What?" a harsh British tongue rolled.
"Have you ever realized how arrogant you appear to everyone? I was only trying to ask you a question," he defended.
The Brit changed his rough expression in exchange for a phony sweet one. He batted his black eyelashes at the other on and apologized, "I'm sorry, how's this?"
The Frenchman pouted his lips and muttered, "Too bad you're not like that all the time."
"What's that supposed to mean!" he barked.
"Hey, you had English last period," the other teen interrupted, "What did you guys do?"
Brit rested his facial features and muttered, "What do you think?"
"Was it boring?"
"All day, everyday."
"C'est des conneries!" blondie cursed, swaying his head to the side out of frustration. "I don't feel like doing anything else today!"
"Only shagging men and women alike, am I right?" he added suggestively.
"You're so dirty, Arthur! I like that!"
"You're such a whore, Francis."
After a good thirty seconds of silence, wandering the one way hallways for the third time arm in arm, Francis spoke out, "Hey, I haven't asked you this question since freshman year, but do you have your eye on anyone?"
"What do you mean?" Arthur asked moodily.
"You know, anyone you'd like to bump uglies with, non?" Francis wriggled his eyebrows.
He sighed, "I'm ashamed to say that's true."
Francis clapped his hands together like a middle school fangirl, his hair flying perfectly behind him, "Ooh! Who is it!"
"Like hell I'd tell you," he denied.
"Can you at least tell me of it's a boy or a girl?"
"It's a boy."
"How long have you liked him?" he interrogated further.
"Since about the last month or so of dating Michelle," Arthur provided.
Francis held hand out dramatically, "Pssh, why did you even go out with her? She's so annoying."
"I know that now," he huffed.
Arthur's face stiffened as he stared off into the distance and Francis queried, "What's that face for?"
"I think I might tell you who it is," the Brit confided.
"Really?"
He flashed his emerald eyes at the Frenchman evilly and finished, "Only if you promise to help me get him to go out with me."
"Sure, sure. Now, tell me!" he agreed, leaning in closer excitedly.
Arthur jerked his arm down as they stopped, bringing both boys to their bent knees and backs swayed, and squeezed Francis' hand. He used his other hand to point out a golden haired, boy with a bouncy cowlick by a set of lockers.
"Him," he spoke with control. "I want him."
"Arthur," Francis giggled. "You're a cougar."
"No I'm not! He's in the same grade as us, isn't he?" he hissed.
He stood upright and looked down at Arthur with curiosity, "Oh, been doing some research, have we?"
"Hell yeah, just look at that face!" Arthur and Francis wrench their necks to get a better look. The Brit drops his head on his own shoulder, placing his free hand over his chest and sighed, "He's such a young heartthrob."
"He's so pretty, do you think he already has a girlfriend or boyfriend?" Frenchie suggested.
Arthur places his head upright. "I don't know, to be honest."
He sucked his teeth and placed his hands on his hips as he scolded, "Don't you think that's some vital information before you ask someone out, Arthur?"
"No, not really," Arthur continued to fawn over the boy.
Francis brushed it off and furthered his questioning, "I think I should already know this, but what's his name?"
"Alfred Jones."
"I still say he looks a little young. Are you sure he isn't younger than us?"
"He might be, I don't know for certain."
The pair stared at the gorgeous sight and took in the rare beauty he is. Francis breaks the momentary silence, "What do you want him for? One night stand?"
"You could say that," Arthur halfway agreed. He bit his bottom lip harshly as he continued to stare, "One night stand every night for the rest of my life."
Francis giggled as Arthur stretched his neck to get a better look at the cutie in question. He smirked and bit his bottom lip, "But that ass, though."
"Stop it, Arthur," Francis chuckled. "You're going to make me want him, now!"
"Well, just so you know, he's off limits. That body's mine."
"Oh? Have you even said anything to him yet?" he challenged.
"No, but I plan to ask him out today."
The French student's eyes widened as he exclaimed, "Does this boy even know anything about you? You're a big pedo!"
"Oh, shut up. He will," Arthur murmured. He jerked his hand back and casually lean up against the wall, "Look away, here he comes!"
Alfred walked from his locker and strode past the pair. Arthur nonchalantly waved to the sandy haired boy with Francis imitating. He gave a slight smile and acknowledged them back, proceeding back to class. Arthur made sure he left out of hearing range before fetishly smacking Francis on his arm.
"Did you see that! He totally wants me!" the Brit screamed out of character.
Francis grinned and responded, "You're a perv, you know that?"
Arthur darted his eyes up at him, "You call it pervy, I call it 'sexually curious.'"
"I'd think with a sexual history such as your own, your curiosity would be satisfied," Francis teased, arms crossed.
Arthur tramped down the direction the boy with the cowlick went and bidded, "I really hate to leave you, but I believe I have to sweet talk some trousers off!"
"As always, text me about it later," Francis sighed, entering his last class of the day. Instead of going to last period, Arthur wandered further down the hallways, heading for an office, labeled, "Guidance Office".
"Well, there's this boy I know that goes here," the British accent driven voice spoke out, his feet swinging from beneath his chair.
"What about him?" the counselor follows up.
"I see him in school and he just looks," Arthur looked down at his folded hands, rested nervously in his lap. "Unhappy."
"Unhappy? How so?"
"He seems withdrawn and not as happy as he should be."
"What if that's how he naturally is?" she suggested.
"No, I remember freshman year, the year I first saw him here, he appeared a little more cheerful. You know, worry free, fun loving. That sort of thing."
"When did you notice behavior change in your classmate?"
"He seemed a little less giddy as each year passed. Sophomore year, now that I look back on it, is where this might've started," he recalled, darting his eyes up to the ceiling.
"What do you mean by 'when you look back on it'?" she angled her head up at him.
"I didn't notice anything until recently, to be honest," he huffs a melancholy breath. "Since I've only started liking the boy about a month and a half ago and decided to keep a closer eye on him."
"Have you thought about anything that might've caused his attitude change?"
He wriggled his bushy eyebrows and looked back, "I can't put my finger on what, exactly. I thought maybe high school became too hard for him. But another concern is what I see on him."
"See on him?" her voice was drenched with concern. "Like what?"
"Yes, I see bruises and bitemarks on him and it worries me deeply."
"Do you have another explanation for these injuries other than the more obvious reason?"
"Other than that, no. Do you think that might be a cause?"
"I believe that it's too early to tell, despite that his emotional change has occurred over the past few years. I just don't think he's ready to confide in anyone of his troubles."
"But, is there anything I can do to prevent something extremely destructive happening to him?" he flashed his emerald eyes up at the woman.
The guidance counselor whipped her glasses off her young and luminous face as she suggested, "Try to get closer to him. Take interest in what he likes, try to help him out with classwork. Maybe he'll open up."
"Um, alright," he brushed his choppy faery blond hair from his eyes. "I think I can do that."
"Good. I hope nothing's happened to him and it's all just in your head."
"I hope so, as well."
He left the classroom and puttered down the hallway back to class. Right before he walked into class tardy, he takes the time to reflect. "I hope he's alright, I don't think I could deal if anything bad happened," he thought to himself, hand on the steel classroom door handle.
The beetle browed teenager's eyes scanned the classroom of other adolescents, of which were discussing their plans for a weekend of drunkenness, and fell upon an empty seat next to a pretty boy; Alfred. The British lad slid his bookbag off his back and threw to the floor and slammed himself in the linked chair and desk. The others' ethereal ocean eyes observed the guy who had just took a seat beside him from the corner of his lashes. He kept his hand positioned on his classwork, pencil in grasp and sluggishly wrote notes from the blackboard.
The fair skinned teen turned to the other teen and inquired, "Hey, do you know what we're doing today? Sorry, I came in late."
The younging gripped his pencil tighter and raised his shoulders to the brim of his earlobes. Green eyed stared blankly at the other's reaction. He took notice in his baby blue eyes, godlike metallicy blond locks, and the single tuft of hair that refused to stay put. The British one jerks his head back to his paper after muttering a distinct, "sorry" and continued working on his own.
"Ey, Kirkland!" one of the random classmates called out from the back of the class.
"Can I help you, Gilbert?" 'Kirkland' whipped around rather eerily.
"I see you're making plans for the weekend," Gilbert with the red eyes and snow white hair sneered.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Arthur queried.
"You know," Gilbert held out his hand dramatically to somehow prove his case. "I don't think your ex would be very happy if you were to pick up random American boys for a one night stand right after you guys broke up, Arthur."
Jones dropped his head on the desk, burying his crimson face in crossed arms, as the other defended, "Shut the hell up, Gilbert!"
"Oh, so you've already gotten a one night stand after breaking up with the little French girl?"
"Michelle was the one who broke up with me and she shouldn't have a fucking problem with that."
"How many times?" he giggled.
He jerked his petite frame back front and center the classroom and held up a hand, all five fingers stretched out. The German laughed a hysterical high pitched one and Kirkland provoked the hyperactive student with his middle finger.
"I'm sorry about that," he apologized to the boy with the cowlick and the dress code bending aviator jacket. Arthur fastened his school required necktie and finished, "I hope you know he was kidding, right?"
"Mhm," beautiful blond acknowledged. He pursed his lips in disgust as he squinted down at his paper. The Brit fluttered in his eyelashes as he surveyed the student adjacent to him struggle with assignment.
"Are you having trouble with the equation?" Kirkland asked with an eyebrow raised.
Those half opened crystal water eyes finally faced him head on with lifted brows. Arthur noticed a bruise shadowing his left eye as cutie responded, "No."
"Really?"
He glanced back to the paper and held it close to his squinted pair of blue painted stones.
Arthur loosened his scowl and asked, "What's wrong?"
He looked worriedly back at the teen and asked, "C–can you read it to me?"
"Huh?"
"I… I can't see it."
"Um, okay." Arthur scooted his desk a bit closer to other boys' and used his pencil to correspond to his teachings. As he explained, Arthur felt himself heat up from admiration. He thought to himself how much he loved this boy. The drop dead gorgeous adolescent brought his face closer to the paper and hunched his back to get a better view of the worksheet.
"So, does that answer go with this problem?" Alfred tapped the graphite onto the paper's distressed surface in display of his question.
"No, we were just over this," Arthur re explained, his finger tapped the question beside it. "It's the solution to this problem."
The other glared his eyes back down at the sheet and wrote down the answer the British boy had helped him solve down. Arthur looked innocently at him and asked, "Hey, you usually wear glasses. Where are they today?"
Alfred's Texas sky eyes skitted nervously around the room until they finally landed back at Arthur, and he responded, "They broke last night."
"Oh, okay. Then, how did that happen?" he pointed his finger to the reprehensible black and blue that stunted the beauty of the other boy's youthful face.
He shifted his head back the front of the classroom to conceal the obscenity and muttered, "Nothing."
Like hell that's nothing. You must think I'm as dumb as shit to believe that boldface lie.
"Oh, alright." Arthur slid his bottom and returned to the state of working alongside him. They worked on a few more problems and the boy offered to solve one on his own. A few minutes of silence between them. Arthur's thoughts ran rampant as the wall of prolonged nothingness grew taller as each brick was laid.
What really happened to you? I know you lied to me to hide something uglier than that black eye.
"Hey, I think I got it!" Alfred proclaimed half heartedly, eyes remained on the paper.
"Yeah, I think you got the hang of it now," blond haired Kirkland praised as he corrected his work.
The bell rang unexpectedly and everyone scurried to collect their shit and get the hell out. He sluggishly grabbed his backpack and slung it over his brawny shoulder, careful not to disturb that adorable cowlick of his in the process.
"Thanks for helpin' me today, Arthur," blue eyed thanked, proceeding out of the classroom exit and trailing right beside him.
"No problem, Alfred," Arthur flashed those summer cut grass at Alfred in hopes of an instant romantic connection, but to no avail.
Arthur left Alfred at the busses and walked the short distance to his own vehicle and started the ignition. He sat in motionlessness for a minute to cogitate about the cutie he had been head over heels for for a while.
"I've never felt like this with anyone but him," Arthur mumbled to himself. "A relationship might be the way to go in dealing with my feelings with him. I don't want to take things fast with him, like my other relationships. I want to savor his presence for as long as I can."
Arthur brought his rather larger than average eyebrows together and banged his head on the steering wheel. "Curse him for being so gorgeous and fucking flawless!"
He lifted his head again and muttered half serious, "Damn, what I'd give to have that American ass in my bed every night."
He aggressively jerked the wheel of his vehicle and steered his way home out of the school parking lot.
"Are you serious! Look, Francis, no matter how cute he is, I'm not driving down there to pick up a hooker!" Arthur yelled back into his cell phone. "Why don't you take him, if you want him so bad? What? Hell no I'm going all the way there just to get a look at him, just send me a picture!"
Arthur paced back and forth his empty living room, contemplating the outcome of Francis' suggested action. "Is he that hot?"
He sighed as he strutted back to his bedroom, retrieving his wallet and car keys. "Alright, but if I go down there and it turns out your ass was lying, there'll be hell to pay."
He hung up the phone and shoved it in his back pocket. Arthur Kirkland huffed back to his automobile, deep red in pigment, and took the drive down to Francis. He exited the vehicle and stormed to Frenchman, with a hint of resentment on his lips.
"Okay, so where is this 'miracle child' I so desperately need to check out?" Arthur folded his arms childishly and scanned the flooded streets of crowds for a miracle to hit him.
"Over here, mon ami," Francis whispered as if they were going into a sleeping child's bedroom. He took the Brit by the arm and guided him over to a secluded alleyway. Guarding the building corner stood a character that strummed a note of familiarity with Arthur, but apparently not to the Frenchman.
"Hey, this is the guy I was talking about earlier," Francis presented. "Say bonjour, Artie."
"Hello," Arthur pouted, eyebrows furrowed. The boy, no older than the two of them, bended down, his metal accessories clinking, and neared his face by the choppy blond.
"Aw, can't ya greet me in a more friendly manner?"
"No, not really," Arthur spat.
Francis spoke up, "So, are you an actual prostitute?"
The boy smirked as if he achieved something and continued, "Are you guys cops?"
Francis and Arthur looked synchronously at each other, turned back to him, and nodded their heads.
"I'm a prostitute," he buffed his fingernails on his shady opaque jacket, one that would be used to hide something. Arthur looked up at the hooker and recognized his shiny blond hair in an instant, but his precious rebellious tuft of hair was slicked back. In other words, he looked completely different than he did just a few hours ago. He wasn't wearing that iconic aviator jacket, still glassesless, and that nasty black eye was completely covered up with, what Arthur assumed, to be make up. Nonetheless, those angelic blue eyes shone through his masquerade.
Is this still the same boy I know? If he is, why hasn't Francis realized it?
"Hey, you're zonin' out on me," the now smooth talking blond caught the attention of Arthur. He shook his head slightly, a few strands of dusty gold caressed the frame of his face in the process, and returned to the conversation.
"Sorry, I spaced out."
"So your friend here was just telling me about your dating life," he nodded his head towards a nervously sweating Francis.
The emerald eyed Brit turned to his buddy and snarled, "Did he?"
"So you're on a bit of a dry spell, right?"
"That's none of your concern."
"Feh," he repositioned his back against the scratchy brick building. "I live off of dry spells."
Arthur made the realization and slid over to his friend, "Are you trying to set me up with this man, Francis?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, "Not exactly, Arthur. It's just—"
"Then why?"
"Because you still don't seem to be over Michelle! You need a night to loosen up and forget her and her constant bitchiness!"
"That's what you said about the last five times after her," Arthur scrunched his nose in disgust. "I can't stand it when I do that." He looked back up with a perspective, "But I love it too much to stop."
"Well, let this be number six!" Francis shrugged his shoulders. "C'mon, I already payed for a night with him for you!"
Arthur exhaled expressively and hung his head low. "You really are a pervert, aren't you?" he jokingly insulted.
"I'm the slut, you're the pervert."
"That seems about right." Arthur's face lit up after stating so.
I know a way to find out for sure it's him.
With a dangerous smirk played across his lips, Francis catches on to his misleadingness and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, has someone strayed back to his usual way?"
"You know what, Francis?" he smiles, having his games plan set up. "Why don't you go home now and I'll work out the details here with him."
Francis played his recognizable chuckle and swayed his way back to his car after he waved goodbye. Arthur waited until his friend left for good and reentered the alley way with evil emerald eyes.
"Bend down," the British teen demanded.
"Hey, I don't do cheap alley tricks!" the other warded, hunching over anyways.
Arthur brought his fingers to the boy's' scalp and ruffled the gel out of his hair. The adolescent closed one eye in disturbance, but let the other continue. Sure enough, that animated cowlick popped back into its place and Arthur took his hands back off the wide eyed American.
"I knew it," he harshly confessed. "It's none other than Alfred Fucking Jones himself."
AN: I've rewritten this story, so hopefully it won't be as terrible.