Level One: Solving Troublesome

"Many say that if one is look into a mirror, it will reflect your true self.

But what if they looked into a mirror and found an exactly different person? Then the person hadn't truly been who they were always meant to be.

Unless... they were the reflection themselves"

"Mr. Kirkland. May I ask you a simple question?"

"Y-Yes, of coarse, sir."

Mr. Bonnefoy rubbed his temples as Arthur twiddled his thumbs, gulping nervously. "Are you sick?" The Frenchman asked, bluntly, looking Arthur straight into his emerald eyes. "What do you mean, sir? Of coarse I am not, I am here at work, aren't I?" Arthur replied, slightly confused but continued to act as polite as possible. He looked up to his boss, wondering what exactly he was thinking.

"Well then, mon ami... Tu m'énerves!" Mr. Bonnefoy stated in an angered tone as he slammed Arthur's report onto his polished, wooden desk. "I do not understand... Francis." Arthur wondered as he looked up to his boss with conserved eyes. Not from the language, for Arthur understood French perfectly as he's gotten used to his boss's outrages, good and bad. But confused on what exactly Francis was getting so angered about.

"Arthur," Francis paused as he rubbed his chin, cooling down a bit, "This is... C'est des conneries. This is not what I wanted! You said yourself that you would make a better, fresh report. This is inspiring; exactly what we do not want, oui? And what is this about mirrors, timeless love and rubbish that do not, in any way, relate to the topic, Mr. Kirkland?"

"I have been having unusual inspiration lately, sir. Unusual dreams, I should say. It really is a bother to myself as well. Please, let me try again." Arthur asked, not looking Francis in the eye. Francis stared at Arthur and sighed. "Non," Francis decided, "you have already tried quatre fois, Arthur. This is getting annoying." Arthur widened his eyes, slightly terrified.

"I completely despise this job, but, I swear on my life and beg of you, don't fire me." Arthur pleaded in his mind, almost praying. "Non," Francis repeated, "I will have you assigned in a lower category, Kirkland. It is too bad; I really thought you could handle a promotion like this. I was disappointed. Do not do it again." He looked Arthur sternly handing across his desk, a blue, paper folder. Arthur sighed quietly, taking the booklet. "Of coarse. Say, how is Joan?"

The air froze and instantly melted into spring bloom as Francis smiled happily and rambled on and on of their great adventures together and going off into the sunset after every day. Arthur sighed, relieved and quietly inched out of the large, white office room, back to his desk to read the assignment. The British man heard a near door creek open and a familiar Italian face greeted him, expressionless.

"Ciao. How was the fresh story?"

"Marvelous."

"The French beast?"

"Absolutely wonderful."

"Your day?"

"Grand," Arthur continued bluntly sitting down on his cushioned seat, not bothering to look up from his papers. "Hm. incazzato, bastardo?" the Italian trying not to feel faltered by how pissed he himself was at how the Brit was acting. "Why, no." Arthur triggered back, still emotionless.

"Arthur, are you lying to me?"

"Not at all, you bloody git. Not at all." Arthur slammed the document papers onto his desk; his new project, containing obvious demotion and disappointment in his aura. "Ahem. I apologize. I meant to say that it is a pleasure working with you, my new damned partner." Arthur shook the amused Lovino's hand with decreasing spirit by every dragging second of the ticking clock. "Took you long enough. You know I never come to your office unless it's something important as bugging my new partner in crime, sì?" Lovino smirked releasing his hand and sitting on top of Arthur's desk, crumpling papers under his bottom. Arthur placed his elbows up and propped his chin on his intertwined fingers. "So, tell me, where is this uncovering going to be, mind that I don't care, just asking to pass slow time."

"My home country, amico mio."

"Italy?" Lovino nodded. "Where?"

"Didn't bother to read the papers?" Lovino asked annoyed and nearly unimpressed.

"After reading the first two wretched paragraphs, I would've rather died, or worse, quit this horrid job than reading on. So, where?" Arthur continued to ask, the conversation already boring him to near death. "Rome," Lovino stated, looking somewhat happy, probably of the fact he was going back home to his beloved brother, not daring to show it though.

Arthur raised his impressive brows. "Happy to be coming back to Feliciano, perhaps?"

"stai zitto, idiota."

"Bloody fuck!" Arthur cursed aloud, the large crowd giving him horrifying and disappointed looks, a mother even covering her child's ears. Arthur cleared his throat and apologized behalf of himself and his continuously swearing partner beside him. "Will you shut it, Lovino? I know this is a terrible turn in events but, just please bear with it until we find an alternative path." Arthur clenched a fist around his luggage, looking around desperately.

"Are you serious? We are already a day late!" Lovino shouted at the Englishman hurrying in front of him. Arthur stopped. "Well, I guess we'll have to take a little longer."

"What?" Lovino asked, confused and horrified, sweat running down his cheek. Arthur hurried to a counter and asked the man behind it, "Sir! What is the nearest deporting ship you have going to Italy?" The man turned around with a raised brow and replied, "Discúlpeme?"

"What?" Arthur asked again, his anger and annoyed emotions making him seem more rude than he meant. Lovino slapped a fist against Arthur's forehead, making the Brit stumble back. Lovino started talking in a foreign language with ease and it looked like it ended with ease and, to be honest, that's a hard thing to achieve with a madman like Lovino.

In the end, Lovino got two seperate rooms to a cruise leaving in two days. Arthur sighed and decided to leave the airport with Lovino, and find a small hotel to sleep for the nights until the cruise.

Then finally, as time ran slowly, it was cruise day. The docks were scattered with tourists and Spanish people roaming everywhere. Even the greeting captain of the ship winked at Arthur. As the two argued about which one the captain actually winked at, they unpacked their bags and slammed the doors at each other.

Arthur found the lounge at the cruise ship map and slipped on a simple white blouse and black shorts that hit his knees perfectly. His hair wasn't brushed and his eyes looked weary but his eyelashes made him look lustful. He grabbed a classic novel from his luggage and tucked it between his left arm. Even walking down every narrow hallway, both men and women would wink and give very wicked smiles. Arthur smiled back normally but rolled his eyes as he passed on because he REALLY didn't want this right now. Then as he entered the lounge he palmed his face, messing his hair up more, because Lovino won that fight... the captain was most definitely looking at Arthur. Proof: those blasted passengers making moves on him.

He flipped the 149th page when a finger tapped the top of his book and Arthur looked up to a man that ought to be younger than him. Though, he wasn't Spanish.

It was a man at least three inches taller than Arthur but then again, every other man was taller him. He had black lines and curves that went crawling up around his left arm and a Roman numeral of a fifty in dark red, embedded into his wrist. He wore a sleeveless jean jacket that covered a grayish white t-shirt underneath. His hair looked like it was gelled back but stubborn strands stayed put, hanging over his forehead. He was definitely a looker; just not his type.

Arthur tried raising my book but the strength of his one finger was stunningly strong so Arthur had to duck his head to continue reading. Arthur heard a quiet laugh from behind his book and he dared take a glance upward.

"You're a brave one, aren't ya?"

Arthur squinted his eyes slightly. "I've heard more flattery things."

"I've also heard more sexier accents, ya dig? But, your looks are worth something."

He had a wild accent of the 60s that the Americans had and that statement most definitely got Arthur's attention. He had a wide smile and a small but deep scar, printed right on his jawline. Arthur finally took a good look at the younger male's face and he couldn't help but feel slightly taken aback; the boy's lips were soft, slightly crooked but made for a friendly smile. His nose was turned slightly upward, despite being quite bony. His eyebrows were filled, a slightly darker shade than his sunset, greased hair. His eyes were the color of the sea they were traveling on. Though they were dark and glazed over pretty well, they held something subtle: hurt... maybe protectiveness.

Arthur leaned more against the chair finally caring for eye-contact. "And what is it that a you want?"

He gave a sideways smile that showed a shallow dimple form on his right side. "I'm Alfred. Thanks for asking."

Arthur almost smiled at that. He was clever and smart... just not style-wise. "I'm Arthur but, you must've known that."

Arthur hoped for more than a smile but that was all he received as the other man sat on a cushion across from him. There was a silence but it wasn't at all awkward or uncomfortable. It was relaxing and pleasing. Which is the last thing he'd expect from an American greaser. Alfred gave Arthur a wolfish smile that was sweet and dangerous and Arthur just about blushed.

Arthur felt 10 years younger and like a teenager who's just found out about a handsome new fellow in school. Instead he cleared his throat. "So Alfred... what room are you staying in?"

Author's Notes:

Welcome to "Levels of Perfect"

There's a lot of French and Italian stuff so, I apologise if it's not accurate or just messes things up. Well, as you should know, this will be written from the 60s (If no one noticed "greasers" / Yay! Black and white stuffs!) If anyone really wants to know now, Arthur's report is about what "PERFECT" truly means and Alfred gets to be his inspiration.