Arthur's stomach and lack of shame brought him into the Denny's outside of Williamsburg, Virginia. It was his first Denny's in America and nothing too special judging by the decades-old façade. He'd arrived in New York City a week prior, rented an old Chevy – some things just needed to be done in his mind, no matter how much he cursed at the dusty old thing under his breath– and was slowly making his way down the East coast.
It was also his first time in America. His friend, Francis, had questioned why he wanted to take a road trip in an old car through the states. Arthur was twenty-eight. He'd done Germany, Switzerland, and Austria after graduation, been to France countless times dragged along by Francis, and even been to India and Australia. He had all of Europe under his belt as well as a good portion of the East. He figured at some point he'd make a trip to the colonies.
And now he was here, at a Denny's restaurant, at two in the morning no less. It wasn't exactly his plan to come to Denny's at two in the morning, but driving on the desolate, dark highways was getting boring and he realized he hadn't eaten since a convenience store stop in D.C.
It was early June, and while the days were warm, the nights were permeated with a woodsy chill. He stuck his hands in his jacket and pushed open the Denny's door with his arm. The scene was like any twenty-four hour establishment at 2 am; sparsely populated, deadly quiet, and smelling of coffee and old cigarette smoke. Arthur decided it wasn't that bad, as far as late night eateries went.
He took a seat at the counter and absently read through the laminated drink menu. There were two elderly men in a booth near the back by the windows, and another man sitting at the bar, ten seats away. The man was talking quietly with the waiter. They seemed friendly.
Upon taking his seat, the waiter had noticed him and wrapped up whatever he was saying to the man before coming over to him.
"Good morning, sir," he said politely, for it being two in the morning. "What can I get you?"
"Tea for now, please," he said. "Black."
The corner of his lips quirked up before he nodded and turned to the hot water dispenser.
He poured him a cup, added the teabag, and asked, "Visiting?"
Arthur glanced up at him. He looked honestly curious. He let himself smile a little. "Yes."
"We don't get many foreign tourists down this way," he elaborated. "You're really off the main highway. And I can't think of many English living around here either."
Arthur nodded. "I'm taking a… road trip of sorts."
He – Matthew, his nametag read – nodded like he understood. "Just call if you want something to eat."
He returned to where the other man sat and as Arthur watched him, he realized the man had been watching them talk, his chin in his hand, head tilted back as if critically appraising him. Needless to say, there wasn't anything he could call pleasant in the man's glare. When he returned to speaking with the waiter, he shifted himself forward as if telling him a secret. Arthur caught him flicking his gaze to him every once in a while during their conversation.
After a couple more minutes, Arthur realized he was staring and huffed, reverting his gaze to his mediocre tea. He simply chalked it up to the man's odd behavior – and an intriguing character. The man had tanned, sun-soaked skin. His hair was streaked trophy gold and brassy, brushing his cheekbone. He had on what looked to be a well-worn brown bomber jacket, dark, worn jeans, and combat boots of a similar state. He looked no older than himself.
Arthur pushed a hand through his own shaggy hair and consulted the menu for something to eat. Matthew came back for his order and when he left to give it to the kitchen, Arthur heard the stool next to him creak. He looked up, surprised to find the man sitting next to him, facing him, one arm on the counter and the other resting in his lap.
"Hello," Arthur greeted slowly, a little confusedly and only slightly annoyed, while instinctually leaning away from him.
"Hi," he said in a serious voice.
A beat of silence and Arthur looked down at the menu again.
"What brings you here?" the man said.
Arthur blinked at him, at unreadable eyes. His brow furrowed. "I'd say nothing but crisps and coke since D.C. rush hour."
"Funny," the man said, raising his eyebrow. "I meant what are you doing in Williamsburg. Virginia. The U.S."
"Road trip of sorts," he replied. The man continued to stare at him with a look that wasn't entirely hostile but evidently wasn't friendly. "I'm sorry, but have I offended you?"
Matthew returned with Arthur's hot plate of food. He slid it in front of him and laughed. "Don't take it personally. He's really a kid at heart."
The man didn't comment on his words. In fact his eyes never left Arthur's.
Arthur flicked unsure and unamused eyes at Matthew. He laughed again and said, "Don't worry about Alfred. He does this to everybody around this time."
His words implied he came to this Denny's at two in the morning a lot. The man, Alfred, apparently, started at what he said.
"Stop giving my name out to strangers," he said, but there was no malice in it.
"Only when you stop chatting up every lone ranger that walks in." Matthew grinned triumphantly but Alfred's expression remained unchanged. The guy sure was a piece of work. "I'll leave you then," he said and disappeared into the back.
Another beat of silence passed.
"Arthur Kirkland," he offered, seeing as he'd come to know the other man's name. He held out a hand but Alfred glanced over it as if he didn't know what to do with it. Arthur retracted his hand. "So," he continued somewhat awkwardly. "Is he your friend?"
"Matt?" Alfred replied, at last. "You could say that. He's my brother."
Arthur thought that was interesting. Now that he thought about it, there were some similarities. Matthew was certainly fairer than his brother, and a lot friendlier. He was also beginning to feel like a sample on a lab slide under his gaze, and it was running through his patience.
"Why are you talking to me?" he questioned.
"Because I like chatting people up at 2am. You're not from around here, got a fancy accent, and I find you amusing."
"Amusing," Arthur grumbled.
Arthur was saved from further tedium by the front door of the Denny's bashing open and a man swaggering in shouting, "Matt!"
He had a wide grin on his pale face and fair hair that reflected the awful fluorescence. He spotted Alfred and cut over to the two of them.
"Hey, Alfie," he greeted, ignoring Alfred's dangerous brow furrow. "Matt's here right? Who's your friend?" He jabbed a thumb in Arthur's direction.
"Yes, he's here. And ask him."
"Who are you?" he asked Arthur without missing a beat.
"Um, Arthur."
"Ooh, a Brit," he said, taking a fry from his plate and munching on the end. "Prime choice tonight, Al."
Perhaps not so much of a lab slide than meat in a butcher's window.
"I'm Gilbert," he said. "How long have you been friendly with Goldilocks here?"
Arthur busied himself by drinking lukewarm tea. Luckily, he was saved once again.
Matthew came out from the back and smiled upon seeing his friend. "Hey, how long have you been in town?"
"Just got in. Stayed at the apartment a couple days, visited Roddy yesterday, and drove down a few hours ago."
He paused and evaluated the scene in front of him. Two silent men and his friend refilling Arthur's mug with hot water and a new teabag.
"You know, I've never seen it this lively in here, Matt."
"It's a lively one alright. Alfred's taking public harassment up a notch."
"Would you stop talking like I'm not here?" Alfred interjected.
"Hey, everyone's got a hobby," Gilbert said, shrugging. "Besides, you might as well not be. You've had a stick up your ass for–"
"Shut the fuck up, Gil."
Gilbert raised an eyebrow, seeming to understand him, but he said nothing. "Fine," he finally said. "Matt, I've got an update on your car. Why don't we," he paused, looking over the dour scene, "go somewhere else and talk."
Matt shook his head, good-naturedly. Arthur suspected that Matt and Alfred had dealt with their rather forward friend for a long time, judging by the way nothing he said fazed them. "Arthur, if you need more tea or anything Alfred can get it for you."
"Thanks," he managed before Matthew's friend stole him away.
Arthur took the chance to give Alfred another once over. Now that the man was next to him, he saw the details. Balanced on his nose were thick-framed glasses. He looked rather intellectual when one didn't take into account his clothes, streaked with what looked like grease or motor oil. His eyes were a dull and flat blue in the less than flattering diner light, still pointedly glaring at him, for reasons Arthur couldn't fathom.
For the sake of not ending up a victim of an axe-murderer, Arthur hoped he was as harmless as his brother seemed to endorse.
"So," Arthur started again. "Public harassment is a hobby now? I thought it was a crime."
"Depends on how you execute it," Alfred said, snagging a fry off his plate. Arthur could say a few words on his "execution."
"At two in the morning?"
He shrugged. "I've got nothing going on."
"Do you, ah, visit here often?"
"Only when Matt's working. It's almost empty here most nights."
"How nice," Arthur mumbled.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
"London."
"Of course."
Arthur gave him a sidelong look. "You ever been?"
"Nope."
"Want to?"
"Nope."
"Shame."
"I've got all I need here."
Arthur studied him for a moment. "Do you now. What about what you want?"
Arthur didn't really know why he was actively making conversation with this stranger. But Alfred hesitated, his gaze never leaving Arthur's. "My wants and needs are the same."
Somehow, Arthur doubted that but he nodded anyway. Attention back down to his plate, he mopped up the last of the ketchup with a small bunch of fries. He then withdrew some cash from his wallet – more than enough for the bill and a tip – and shoved it back in his back pocket. "Tell him to keep the change," he told Alfred, shifting off the stool and making to leave.
He was hesitating. He didn't know why. He fumbled a bit with his phone, checking his pockets to make sure the few things he had on him were still with him. What was he waiting for? For the man to say something? He hadn't been too talkative so far. Why should he care about a stranger?
"I'm leaving now." How idiotic.
"So you are," Alfred replied coolly.
That settled it then. With a friendly nod, Arthur walked out of the Denny's, his shoes crunching gravel. He jangled his keys from his jacket pocket and that was when he heard the diner door shut behind him. Booted footsteps crunched the gravel, coming closer.
"Hey, Arthur."
Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He turned on his heel and saw the unchanged stoicism of Alfred. "Yes?"
He kicked briefly at the dirt and asked, "Where are you headed?"
Arthur examined him before speaking. The man sure was hard to read. "California. I wasn't initially going to do a cross-country thing, but I've got the car for two more weeks so I figured – why not?"
Alfred looked as if he wanted to say something, considering his words. Arthur waited. When he thought he wouldn't reply, Arthur made to turn back to the truck.
"Let me come with you."
Arthur stopped in his tracks and shifted a semi-shocked but mostly confused gaze to him.
The first thing out of his mouth wasn't a flat out "no" or "you must be mad" but, "I don't even know you."
Alfred lifted his shoulders and dropped them, tiredly. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted on his feet, looking out to the dark trees around them. Finally, he said, "I like talking to strangers, my friends are my brother's friends, and I've played all kinds of sports since I was five." Alfred leveled his gaze with Arthur's, eyes black in the darkness, and almost expectant.
"You don't even know me," were Arthur's next words, after taking in what he told him.
Alfred shrugged once more. "I guess that's for me to find out."
Arthur held his gaze. "And what if you decide to jump ship in the middle of Kansas?"
"I'll take a Greyhound back."
Arthur didn't let strangers hitch rides with him. He never even went on road trips as spontaneously as this. Everything in Arthur's brain told him to shrug Alfred off with his usual exasperation and be on his merry way. But he ended up saying, "Okay."
Arthur thought he saw the tiniest smile flicker over Alfred's face. Perhaps it was a trick of the streetlight. Alfred pulled open the passenger door of the truck parked right next to Arthur's Chevy. Arthur looked on mildly perplexed.
From the cab of the truck into the bed of Arthur's, he swung a rolled up sleeping bag and a couple blankets. He tossed them into the truck bed without a change in expression, without a word.
"You assumed I'd say yes," Arthur said.
Alfred gave a characteristic shrug. "I didn't assume, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared."
"Is this what you do? Chat up strangers in diners and ask to tag along with them?"
Alfred took his hands out of his pockets and stepped toward him. Arthur almost took an instinctive step back. Almost. Alfred was taller than Arthur; he had to look up an inch or two at him. Closer and more removed from the light, his face was more deeply shadowed.
"I don't make a habit of it, no," Alfred said conversationally. "But luckily for you, you came by at the right time and I need to clear my head. Plus," he added, a little mischief gleaming in his eye, "I don't know if I trust you to make it on the wrong side of the road. You might need my help."
Arthur jumped at the bait, only realizing it after a quick defense of his ego. "I drive on both sides of the road just fine, thank you."
"Prove it, Captain," Alfred said and opened the truck door, sliding in with nonchalance, as if they hadn't just met each other an hour earlier.
But the words stilled in Arthur's mind. Now this time, he could have sworn he saw the corner of the man's lips lift. It was a half-smile, but it was something.
Arthur gathered himself and sat down in the driver's seat. He delayed switching on the ignition. Instead, he looked over at Alfred, who was calmly watching the dimly lit road next to the parking lot.
Alfred finally looked over. "What?"
"What about your truck?"
"I left the keys on the counter inside. Matt will take it. His is out of commission anyway."
Arthur shook his head and expelled a breath. "Are you sure you can just up and leave for an undetermined amount of time?"
"Wouldn't be here if I had something important to do. Now drive. I'm going to sleep. Wake me up if you find you can't handle the right side." With that, he slumped in the seat, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned his head against the window.
Arthur huffed, about to give another rebuttal, but put all the festering energy into jamming the key into the ignition and letting the rumble of the truck mellow him out.
.
Why did he let this strange man come with him?
What on Earth possessed him to agree?
Did he have enough time to change his mind, turn around, and dump this guy back at the diner?
No. They were already in North Carolina. And Alfred was complaining about being hungry.
Alfred's nap was a short one, but when he woke he didn't speak much to Arthur. Arthur figured he'd at least strike up a casual conversation with his new companion. It looked like his expectations were set too high.
They were driving through a little town outside Greensboro, it was nearing 7am, and Arthur stopped in front of a small restaurant serving early breakfast. The two men silently made their way inside and sat. The first thing Alfred did was order coffee from the waitress and when she left, they proceeded to stare at each other. Warily, on Arthur's part, and appraisingly on Alfred's.
"So," Arthur cleared his throat and began.
"So," Alfred repeated.
The waitress returned with the coffee and Arthur waited awkwardly for her to take their orders and leave. When she did, he asked, "So what is it that you do that lets you take impromptu holidays?" It was the first step on their get-to-know-you adventure.
Alfred seemed to think of his answer before saying, "I'm a mechanic. I make custom motorcycles. Just finished a bike yesterday night, actually."
Arthur's interested was piqued. He wouldn't necessarily have pegged the man with sunny blond hair and glasses in front of him as a mechanic. Though it did explain the grease on his shirt. "What kind of bike?"
Alfred leaned back in the booth, his eyebrow arching. "A custom Harley. Do you know motorcycles?" he asked.
"I know a bit," Arthur replied, challenging the disbelief in Alfred's eyes. "I've ridden my fair share."
Slowly, a smile wormed its way onto Alfred's face, and Arthur said, "What?"
With mild amusement in his eyes and his smile hidden behind the lip of his mug, Alfred said, "Didn't take you for a rider is all."
Arthur slanted him a look and busied himself with his food that had come while Alfred was talking. Despite his brash attitude, Arthur suddenly wished he could have seen Alfred's work. He didn't know why he thought this. It was insignificant.
The corner of Alfred's lips flicked up into a half smile. "What about yourself? You on sabbatical or something?"
"No," Arthur said, slightly jarred by the shift of attention to himself. "I work for the British Embassy."
Alfred's brows lifted. "Top secret government stuff?"
Arthur smirked down at his plate. "Not really. I move around the European embassies as needed. The last one I was at was Dublin. I'm on holiday right now. When I go back I'll either be in Amsterdam or Brussels."
Alfred watched him for a while, but then all he said was, "Wow," with a smile and a shake of the head. After another moment he said, "You've never been at the American Embassy?"
"Amazingly enough, no. This is my first time in the US."
Another quieter, "Wow."
Since it seemed like Alfred didn't have anything else to say, Arthur nodded and returned to eating. He was secretly pleased at the progress he and Alfred had made. It made Arthur feel more at ease with agreeing to spend his vacation with a stranger. With one civil conversation Arthur could see a more relaxed countenance to Alfred. The apathetic annoyance in his eyes was now replaced by a lighter mirth. Perhaps it was still a slightly condescending mirth, but lightness nonetheless.
"What?" Alfred suddenly asked.
A jolt of embarrassment made Arthur swing his gaze from where he was staring at Alfred's face to his plate. "Nothing," he said, and shoved a forkful of food into his mouth.
.
After breakfast, Alfred asked to stop at the local supermarket for some necessities. Arthur followed him with his arms crossed over his chest as Alfred scanned the wall of boxer briefs – guess that answered that question – and took an unnecessarily long time deliberating between toothbrushes – Arthur began to think he was doing it on purpose.
Back in the truck, Alfred let out a contented sigh from the passenger seat and stretched, linking his hands behind his head.
"Well?" he prompted. "Let's go."
Arthur just looked at him. With another suffering sigh he said, "Are you going to fall asleep again?"
Alfred shrugged. "Maybe. It's pretty warm today. If you need me to take over, just tell me."
"That won't be necessary." Arthur started the truck and maneuvered his way back to the main road.
They drove straight through to Nashville, only stopping for gas and a couple snacks. Over seven hours and Arthur was beginning to feel fatigue. It was late afternoon when he pulled up to a motel and trudged through check-in and hauled his duffel into the room.
Arthur was fighting to keep his eyes open and felt like he could collapse and sleep for a whole day. He barely paid attention to Alfred's presence and almost didn't hear him when he said he wanted to walk around town for a while. Alfred took a room key and left Arthur to blissful sleep.
Of the two double beds in the room, Arthur chose to fall less than gracefully on the bed closest to the window. He always preferred it. He stretched, sprawled, and was out in record time. Sleep was peacefully dreamless until his body woke him up and the first thing he saw when he cracked his eyes open was midnight black and streetlight yellow glowing through the sheer curtains. He rolled from his stomach to his back, arms flopping to the bed with a groan.
"Mornin' Sunshine."
The voice didn't register right away in his brain. Arthur jolted upright and moaned once more when his head spun. When the world stopped spinning, he saw Alfred lounging on his bed, flipping through a magazine.
"Is it morning?" Arthur asked.
Alfred's gaze slid amusedly over to Arthur. "Nope."
Arthur collapsed back onto the pillow.
"It's barely ten."
Arthur groaned. He wanted to be unconscious at least until the next day. Alfred rolled off his bed and came over to whack Arthur with his magazine. "Hey!" He flinched with a belated attempt to shield himself from the attack.
"Hay is for horses. Now get up, we're going out."
"Don't want to."
"Well I don't feel like bringing back food for you. Let's go."
Arthur grudgingly lifted himself off the bed and rubbed his face. "Where're we going?"
"I saw this 'bar and grill' type place earlier. They're open late."
The prospect of a drink and a filling, greasy meal perked him up. Arthur fixed his cuffs and righted his twisted shirt, following Alfred into the city. He walked a half-step behind Alfred, letting him lead. The guy walked with such a casual nonchalance to the world around him, yet his strides were confident and owning. It made Arthur unconsciously straighten his back as he walked.
Alfred led him to the restaurant, which was exactly as he described it. More bar than restaurant, the place had that classic Nashville vibe, where Arthur felt like at any moment a local band would rouse the crowd into a lively country dance. Arthur cringed internally; he couldn't help the stereotypes sometimes.
They sat at a little table between the filled booths and the bar. The friendly, accented waitress gave them menus. When the business was taken care of, and Arthur had a pint in his hand, a group of young men mounted the stage on the far wall and Arthur's deeply buried inner tourist was pleased that his initial image of the bar was somewhat true.
The band introduced themselves to the crowd and began playing. Arthur didn't recognize the style, but it sounded familiar.
"What are they playing?" Arthur asked while waiting for their food.
Alfred shifted his attention to the band. He shrugged. "Some kind of bluegrass rock."
Arthur responded with a hum.
"Never heard of it?"
Arthur looked at him, and there it was again: that amusement sparking in his eyes. "Not really. Punk rock was more my scene."
Alfred raised his eyebrows. "You? A punk?"
Arthur defensively asked, "What?"
There was that half-smile that appeared more like a smirk. "Wouldn't have pegged you for that kind of thing, is all."
"Because I work for the government?"
Arthur swallowed when Alfred's gaze raked him up and down. "That," he said slowly, "and you're so straight-laced."
Rather than deny it, Arthur simply mimicked Alfred's laid back posture and said, "Am I?"
The corner of his lips flicked up again. "Okay. There might be something in there."
"Not that you'll ever know." Arthur returned the smirk.
They ended up staying and enjoying the entertainment, as well as making light jabs at each other that might have been more get-to-know-you conversation. It was just after midnight when they left the bar; customers had begun leaving, and it was a weeknight.
Arthur was a little surprised that he felt tired again. A long nap would have kept him up well into the early morning, but perhaps it was the combination of a filling meal, rowdy background noise, and oddly talkative company that wiped him out once more. In their room, both collapsed on their respective beds and 'goodnights' took the form of deeply contended sighs.
.
In eastern Oklahoma, the clear night sky stretched overhead and Arthur marveled at the stars as he drove. Alfred was dozing, his head leaning against the window.
Arkansas hadn't been very interesting, so Arthur had kept driving. He was feeling a little bit of cabin fever now. Luckily for his boredom, he'd been seeing signs for turn offs to a… lake? Spring? He didn't know what to call it, but the signs had called it Plaincliff Falls. Arthur didn't care that it was just after midnight.
The road to the falls narrowed as it turned to dirt. There seemed to be a lot of these springs in the area, and Arthur figured he'd picked one of the smaller ones. A small clearing, which he guessed served as parking, came into view.
Alfred woke and straightened when Arthur cut the ignition. "Where are we?" he asked.
Arthur smiled. "It's called Plaincliff Falls. Some kind of spring, or waterhole."
Alfred gave him a slanted look. "It's almost one in the morning."
"And I'm bored. Come on, let's check it out."
Arthur exited the truck. The night was pleasantly warm, not too cool but it beat the midday heat waves. There was a clunky groan from Alfred's side as he hauled himself out of the truck.
"I was sleeping," he complained.
"You can sleep later. This looks fun." Arthur came over to his side and waited impatiently. "Come on."
"Didn't think fun was in your vocabulary," Alfred mumbled.
Arthur ignored him as he led the way to the natural path downhill.
He was quite amused by the groans and low curses from Alfred as he whacked away leaves and twigs in front of him.
Arthur could hear the sound of tumbling water and when the trees let up his eyes widened.
The spring was small, about the size of an average swimming pool. Natural earth walls enclosed it, with rocks climbing the sides and ringing the perimeter. The water was inky black in the darkness, reflecting the smallest bit of moonlight. The sound of splashing water came from a two-story high waterfall.
Arthur heard a rustling of fabric and watched in mild confusion as Alfred stripped until he was clad only in his underwear.
"Alfred, what-"
He threw a grin back at Arthur before launching himself into the water. He came up with a shout. "It's cold!"
Alfred smoothed his hair back while he treaded, laughing at the slight concern that was still on Arthur's face.
"Yeah, idiot, it's the middle of the night," he grumbled.
Alfred swam closer and feigned grabbing at his legs. "Get your ass in here before I drag you in."
Arthur jumped away from Alfred's hands and kicked at the stone. "Like hell I am."
"You sure know how to enjoy a vacation. Here," Alfred pushed away from the edge to offer him some peace, "I dare you to jump from the top of the waterfall."
Arthur slanted a condescending look toward him. "You dare me? What are we fifteen?"
Alfred simply grinned. "I dare you."
They locked gazes for a minute until Arthur breathed out a curse. "Fine," he conceded.
Alfred pumped his fists in the water and watched Arthur whip his shirt over his head. Still in his jeans and shoes, Arthur took to the rock wall. It seemed like hand and foot holds had been dug out by previous climbers, as Arthur didn't have much problem climbing to the top – a good thing too since Arthur wasn't exactly boasting the kind of muscle mass Alfred was. He mumbled under his breath while he listened to the splashing below him. Arthur dropped trou, standing at the edge of the cliff in only his boxers, and on a count threw himself over the edge.
Arthur hit the water, the thrill and rush making joy bubble out of him, but when he resurfaced, Alfred was nowhere in sight. Nuggets of concern replaced the joy.
Did Alfred have trouble? Had he drowned? Was he lying unconscious at the bottom?
Arthur swam out to where Alfred had been in the water. "Alfred?" he called loud enough to be heard underwater. "Alfred?"
It was night. The water was pitch black. Arthur couldn't see a thing.
Then, two hands planted onto his shoulders from behind and dunked him underwater. Arthur emerged spluttering with his hair plastered over his eyes. He pushed it away to find Alfred with a satisfied smirk in front of him.
So ignited a splash war; playful insults lobbed between them as much as waves did. Their game lasted until Arthur lifted himself out of the pool. He sat on a rock, leaning back on his hands, while Alfred floated on his back below.
Arthur simply watched him. Alfred had his eyes closed, but his lips were relaxed into an easy smile. It was interesting, and relieving, to Arthur to see his face when it wasn't pulled tight in calculated disinterest or a condescending smirk. He looked innocent in a way, friendlier and that was the word that took Arthur a little by surprise as it entered his thoughts. He was a friend. He hadn't known Alfred more than a couple days now, but considering his commitment to joining Arthur, he figured he could call him a friend – if in the most casual sense.
"Hey, Alfred," he called, just loud enough for him to hear.
Alfred didn't stir but answered, "Yeah?"
"What would you have done if I didn't come by, or if you didn't impose yourself on me?"
Alfred laughed. "Impose, you say." His eyes opened, taking in the night sky. He sculled the water, not saying anything right away. Arthur crossed his legs and propped his elbows on his knees, waiting. "Probably would have gone back to the shop," he finally said. "Probably would have tried doing something – drafting plans, sketching, whatever."
"You don't sound thrilled."
"Mm. I've got a list of clients, so there's always something to do."
"What do you do when you're not working?"
Alfred laughed again and moved over to Arthur's rock. He hoisted himself out of the water and sat at the edge next to Arthur. "Not much these days. I'm boring. This is the most excitement I've had in months."
Arthur examined his profile, chin in his hand. Arthur only knew Alfred a couple days but he could say with minimal doubts that he was one of the more interesting people Arthur has ever met. Who invites themself on a stranger's vacation anyway?
Water droplets trickled down Alfred's face. Arthur watched him fiddle with his hair, shaking it out and running his hands through it. In Arthur's honest opinion, Alfred had a beautiful face – high cheekbones, a full mouth, a friendly brow. He suspected Alfred wouldn't want to hear the latter. For some reason, he tried to appear so aloof but this was the real Alfred; a bright, almost boyish gaze directed to the vast expanse of stars.
Arthur was fully aware of and acknowledged his growing interest in the man. Alfred had finally relaxed that night. Arthur had wondered when he would see past the stoic exterior he'd been holding up, and with the full moon overhead and Alfred's face tilted toward it Arthur couldn't have expected a better moment for it.
.
New Mexico – After they slept overnight at the pool, they took another day to get to Albuquerque. However tranquil they had been at the pool, Alfred's new demeanor was something Arthur wasn't quite sure about in regards to how they would progress.
Things were a little quiet throughout the rest of Oklahoma, but there was a more definite ease. Alfred's mood was progressively better and Arthur didn't have to feel like he was walking on eggshells. Alfred bought breakfast, Arthur bought lunch, and they continued in an effortless flow, more and more used to the rhythm of each other.
Arthur was blissfully unaware of it. Until they reached Albuquerque.
Among many of the things Arthur hadn't been aware of, the sun was one of them. He realized he was quite literally burning. Luckily he wasn't at the status of lobster yet, but once they were in the city they stopped at a drugstore.
Arthur sighed when they entered into blessed air conditioning.
"Wow, you really are red," Alfred snickered behind his hand at the sight of Arthur's arms and face.
"I am not." Arthur's brow scrunched. He waved a hand at Alfred, who seemed to have reaped all the benefits of the sun without the unfortunate downsides.
Arthur huffed and muttered curses to all tan people while they searched for the aisle with aloe vera and sunscreen. He'd taken a hand basket and felt weight drop into it while examining sunscreen. Arthur glanced down and saw multiple candy bars. He lifted his eyes to level with Alfred's. If Arthur weren't so off-put by his burning skin, he would have thought that Alfred's face looked perfectly endearing. Like a slightly less than innocent child.
"What?" he said when Arthur flashed him a look, "I'm buying them."
Arthur rolled his eyes and threw a bottle of sunscreen into the basket.
"Come on, don't be-" Alfred had placed his hands on Arthur's arms and Arthur jumped away in pain. "Sorry!" he said through poorly stifled laughter.
Arthur smacked him on the arm, which only made Alfred laugh more. "I'm done, let's go find lunch."
Alfred followed him to the checkout counter. "Here," he said, handing Arthur a twenty, "I'm taking pity on you so I'll pay for your delicate skin needs."
Alfred skirted Arthur's attempt to smack him again and Arthur could hear him snickering all the way out the door.
Arthur was mumbling to himself about insufferable twats and why he decided to spend all his time with him anyway when he heard the cashier girl let out a small laugh.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he started, but the girl waved it away.
"No worries," she said, ringing up his things. "How long have you been together?"
Rather uncomforted by first-degree burn, Arthur failed to catch her meaning. "A few days," he grumbled. "But it already feels like weeks."
The girl smiled. "That's a good sign. It means you're a good match."
Arthur perked his head up, a bit confused by her wording. "Hmm?"
Instead of elaborating, she proceeded to give him the total and accept his money.
Arthur walked out of the store in a slight daze, still mulling over the girl's words. Alfred was waiting by the truck.
"There you are," he said, and then noticed Arthur thinking. "What is it?"
Gradually, it started to fall into place. Arthur's cheeks warmed when his eyes met Alfred's but he'd swear it was from the ghastly heat. "I think that girl thought we were together."
Alfred raised an eyebrow and laughed. "Well with you hounding me like an old wife, anyone would."
Arthur succeeded in smacking him this time but as he sat in the open doorway of the truck applying aloe vera, Alfred lounging across the seat next to him, he wondered if they really reached that point. Arthur considered himself plenty comfortable with Alfred at this point. Did Alfred feel the same? Certainly not in a couple sense, but as friends. It made Arthur smile.
.
Arizona - The trip went a little easier after Albuquerque now that Arthur wasn't bothered so much by sunburn. The incredible heat made it impossible to put forth more effort than was necessary though.
They had the A/C blasting in the truck yet they still lay listless in their seats. Alfred had been shirtless for a couple hours now. Currently, they were parked at a rest stop in the shade.
"Your bloody country can go to hell," Arthur said.
"In this heat, we're already there," Alfred responded with similar energy. "Where are we?"
"Um, close to Flagstaff I think?" Arthur turned his head and looked at him.
Alfred continued to lay back, eyes closed, one arm dangling out the window. Arthur watched the steady rise and fall of his chest.
"I think I have distant relatives out here."
"Really?" Arthur asked.
Alfred shrugged and leaned forward, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with his discarded shirt. "Doesn't matter to me. I highly doubt they remember my mom, let alone know Matt and I exist, anyway."
Arthur's gaze travelled over the curve of his back and back up to his face when a strand of sun-bleached hair fell over his forehead. Arthur suppressed the sudden urge to tuck it back into place behind his ear with a light flush.
"I'll get us water," Arthur said and exited the truck. He walked to the vending machine in a mild mental turmoil.
He found that he didn't mind Alfred's pokes and punches anymore. What was more, he wanted to touch him now.
.
California – It was seven in the evening and the Pacific Ocean stretched out ahead of them for thousands of miles. They were parked in the gravel lot a couple hundred feet from the water's edge, sat in semi-awed silence. Arthur swallowed and turned his head toward Alfred. His eyes were wide and his lips parted slightly.
Arthur was about to say something, anything, but Alfred abruptly opened the door and he was getting out. In hurried motions, he stepped out of his boots, stored his socks inside them, and rolled up his jeans to the knee. Eyes on the water the entire time, he lifted his t-shirt over his head and tossed it on the passenger seat before walking toward the water.
Arthur exited the truck and followed him curiously. It was like the man tuned everything out except the ocean. He followed Alfred up to where the water ebbed and flowed gently onto the drying sand. Alfred went farther. He waded through the water, eyes on the horizon, until the water lapped at his shins. He stopped and time seemed to stop around him. The only thing Arthur was aware of was his quiet breathing.
It was a sort of majesty, Arthur supposed. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting a soft setting glow that haloed Alfred. An ocean breeze picked up his hair and Arthur felt that same sudden urge, a need to run his fingers through it.
In combination with his body, feet apart, arms hanging loosely by his sides, his tanned skin shadowed even further by the waning light, he looked…
He was stunning. Arthur swallowed again, but didn't have time to do an internal check of his outward expression because Alfred turned his head and met his gaze. And he was grinning. Ear to ear.
"Get out here," he said.
Without thinking, Arthur pulled off his shoes, socks, and rolled up his jeans. He waded out until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Alfred. They let the sounds of the ocean breeze whistle around them.
Alfred broke their silence. "I've never been to the Pacific."
Arthur watched him continue to gaze out at the horizon. "And now you are."
A softer smile lifted the corners of his lips this time. "I am. We are."
Arthur turned back to the view too. The golden orange light was beautiful and he couldn't imagine an instance where making this decision would have been passed up.
Then, fingers intertwined with his and a warm palm pressed to his. Arthur looked down as his heart slammed, unprepared, into his ribs. His gaze swung up to Alfred's cool eyes and light smile.
He was about to question when Alfred swung them bodily around and yanked Arthur down with him into the water. They fell less than gracefully into the water, side by side. Between water sloshing in his ears, Arthur could hear Alfred laughing. It wasn't a giggle or a condescending chuckle this time but eye-crinkling, stomach-clutching laughter. He still had Arthur's hand securely in his.
Arthur spluttered salt water from his mouth and pushed away wet hair from his forehead.
Alfred was still snickering behind his hand and Arthur was about to spew curses at him, but in a last minute decision, he swiped a wave of water at him instead. Alfred blocked it with his forearm. He let go of Arthur's hand to get to his feet and Arthur could see him prepping for a war, a mischievous gleam in his eye.
Arthur scrambled to his feet and just managed to evade a splash sent his way. He rounded on Alfred, taking in his stringy, wet hair and jeans that now clung tightly to his hips and legs, and formulated his own attack strategy.
Their war didn't last long, and ended with Arthur running up the shore and Alfred shouting, "Cheater!" after him.
"It's not cheating, it's regrouping!" Arthur threw back.
Alfred laughed and Arthur shuffled in the sand, his breath short, as he helplessly tugged at his wet shirt. He gave the horizon a brief look of disdain. The sun was too low to dry his clothes. The best he could do was peel his shirt off, wring it out, and dry himself with a blanket from the back of the truck. Alfred stooped to wash excess sand from his arms before trudging back up the shore and meeting Arthur at the truck.
Arthur wordlessly tossed the blanket at him and slipped into his zip-up jacket. It was warm enough, even at sunset, to go without but Arthur was more comfortable with it.
Alfred seemed to have no qualms about remaining shirtless. He waited for Arthur to finish and kept expectant eyes on him.
"What?" Arthur asked.
"What are we doing next?"
Arthur looked back to the water, shimmering with the last rays of sun. He really didn't feel like leaving the beach. He reached into the cab of the truck and withdrew a soccer ball he'd bought at a sports store a couple cities back. "I'm really glad I bought this."
Alfred raised an eyebrow. Arthur grinned.
"You ever play?" he asked, casually juggling the ball with his knees.
"Soccer? A little."
"Excuse you, it's football."
Alfred smirked. "Not over here it isn't."
"That's right," Arthur scoffed. "You ingrates defile the good name with that brutish thing you call a sport."
Alfred laughed. "Your angry Brit is showing, Arthur."
"We Brits are always angry," he drawled. "About important things." Arthur stopped and caught the ball. He began walking back toward the sand. "Now come on, I'm going to teach you some football," he said, emphasizing the word.
He didn't look back, but was aware of Alfred following him from the sound of shifting sand.
They spaced themselves apart and Arthur dropped the ball to the sand. "Now, kick with the inside of your foot."
"I know how to kick a ball, Captain," he said with an eye-roll.
"Alright. Just want to make sure you don't stub a toe."
Alfred smirked and Arthur took a little time to show off with some fancy footwork before kicking the ball toward him. He nodded at his catch and smiled when Alfred gave him a nice return.
They kept up simple passes back and forth for a while, words unneeded. Then Arthur mixed it up a bit and kicked the ball to Alfred's right. Alfred caught on and they gradually increased the difficulty.
"So," Arthur began, feinting to the left to catch his serve. "If you didn't play much football, what did you do?"
Alfred hummed. "I played most every other sport."
"I remember you saying that," Arthur said.
Alfred chuckled, catching the high arc of the ball to his chest and kicking it back. "I even tried hockey. That's Matt's sport. We used to spend parts of the year in Quebec, and Matt took to ice like a duck takes to water."
Arthur continued to volley back and forth with him, going on autopilot while he listened to Alfred speak. He wasn't sure how aware Alfred was of him watching his face. As he told the story, his eyes were trained on the ball with the spark of recalling a memory.
"Matt's not very outwardly aggressive, but don't test him in hockey. It wasn't really my thing though." He smiled with the memory. "I played football in high school. I also did a couple years of baseball, a little basketball. But then…"
Alfred paused his story, keeping his feet moving and for a while the only sound between them was the sound of the ball being passed back and forth.
Arthur chewed on his lip. "But then?" he encouraged.
"Our parents died when I was sixteen. Matt was fifteen," he said, eyes still on the ball. "We went to live with our uncle in Virginia. Sports were hard to keep up with after that. Matt and I had to look out for each other." He paused. "Matt's been saving up to move to Montreal. He got back into hockey and he plays from time to time."
"What about you?" Arthur asked.
"I don't know," Alfred replied, a sad smile on his lips. "I used to know. I thought about following Mattie. Before Virginia, we lived close to New York City. Maybe I'll go back there. I could still see him on occasion."
Arthur let a few more beats of silence pass before he stopped the ball with his foot and kicked it up into his hands. "Come on," he said, motioning to the truck with his head.
"What's up?"
"It's dark now, and I thought of something else."
Alfred quirked an eyebrow, but followed him. At the truck, Arthur deposited the ball and handed Alfred the newspaper sitting on the seat. With his hand, he beckoned him to follow again as they made their way once more back to the sand.
That night they made a bonfire on the beach. They gathered some driftwood and made a little teepee with the logs. Alfred shoved balled up pieces of the newspaper under the structure. He lit it all around with a lighter and stood back next to Arthur to watch the whole thing go ablaze.
Though he was mostly dry, patches of his pants and shirt were still wet, so Arthur neared the fire, his hands extended to the warmth. Turning around to dry the seat of his pants, his gaze fell to Alfred sitting cross-legged on the sand, leaning back on his hands.
After a time, Arthur joined him on the sand.
Alfred chuckled. "You look like a proper California surfer."
Arthur ran a hand through his dry, salty hair. He laughed too; wind-mussed blond hair, t-shirt, rolled up jeans, and bare feet did indeed lend to the image. On the other hand, though Alfred was dressed similarly in a plain t-shirt, rolled up jeans and bare feet, his sunny skin and floppy hair seemed to fit better. Arthur didn't tell him that though. He decided to keep the image to himself.
Arthur didn't realize he was staring until the intensity of Alfred's darkened eyes meeting his startled him. He sincerely hoped he hadn't been sitting there slack-jawed and was immensely glad for the fire, as he had no way of telling what was causing the heat on his cheeks – the fire or embarrassment.
They stayed until the flame died out. When the logs were nothing but crumbled cinders and the darkness of the night settled around them Alfred broached the subject.
"What do we do now?"
Arthur's eyes were on the last flickering embers. "How much more time do you want to spend in California?"
"It's your road trip."
Arthur swung a flat look at him. "You're not my dog. You have opinions."
"Wow, thanks, Arthur," Alfred said. He took another minute to think and continued. "If this is all I see of California, then I'd be alright with that."
Arthur took a deep breath and nodded. He'd get some sleep before figuring out what to do next.
It was then, after he'd made his decision, that he felt a warmth brush his shoulder. His brain processed everything as it came; the warmth of a shoulder still heated from the fire against his, the rough fingertips that barely grazed his own on the sand. In the darkness he could only make out the shape of a face nearing his. And then Alfred's lips were on his.
The kiss was short. There was enough time for a solid press of lips against lips, just enough time for it to fully register in Arthur's brain and for his tensed jaw to soften, and then the pressure was gone.
He was acutely aware of that absence of pressure and found himself not wanting it to be over yet. But Alfred was watching him with soft eyes inches away from his face.
Arthur swallowed the remaining desire and said in a tone low enough for the space between them, "What was that?"
Initially, Arthur thought he was going to answer with something sarcastic or witty, like he'd been prone to doing this whole time. But Alfred left him speechless when he simply said, "A thank-you."
The cogs in his brain were struggling to catch up and it wasn't until he heard Alfred's voice float along the breeze from ten feet away that he realized he'd gotten up and moved during his moment of mental blankness.
And then he realized Alfred was laughing at him. Arthur scrambled to his feet and worked his face up to look angry.
"No angry Brit this time. You look like a disgruntled kitten," Alfred snickered.
So much for that.
From the beach back to the truck, they kept the mood light. In the car, driving down the boulevard in search of a beachside motel to crash at for the night, they kept up a casual banter. If Alfred wasn't going to say or do anything more about what happened, then neither was Arthur. He'd just tuck away the thoughts of his fingers pinned under Alfred's, their shoulders pressed together, and the fact that he'd wanted more. Now that he'd experienced that initial touch, and retrospectively recalled the faint saltiness he'd licked from his own lips afterward and was sure that was how Alfred's lips would have tasted given the chance, he wanted to feel it again.
"Hey, what about that one?" Alfred's voice jerked him out of his thoughts. The motel Alfred pointed to looked decent enough so Arthur pulled into it.
After much needed showers, they both collapsed onto their respective beds. Arthur closed his eyes, quite sure that he wasn't going to open them again for the rest of the night.
"G'night, Arthur."
His eyes opened lazily to look at Alfred. He laid on his back, an arm tossed across his eyes. He didn't say anything else.
"Goodnight, Alfred."
I had written this a long time ago, with different characters, but I still liked it so I modified it for Hetalia. Nevertheless, this piece is still very character-centric, and a good characterization exercise :)
Thanks for reading! Also posted on AO3. Part two will come soon.