Chapter One

Alfred F. Jones really loved Fridays. He loved them just as much as he loved his brother or fast food or even videogames. Fridays were, without a doubt, the highlight of Alfred's week; Friday was the only day of the week where he saw Arthur Kirkland.

It had started as something innocent. Well, as innocent as flirting in a bar and going back to his for some alcohol-fuelled sex could be, anyway. In the American's defence, they had originally met in one of those everyday cliché blossoming romance types of way; they had met in a coffee shop. Alfred had been seeking some relaxation from his totally stressful day of binge-watching Netflix (he was a college student and his timetable gave him the whole of Friday off) and playing XBOX with his dorky friends, so he decided to pay a visit to Coffee on the Corner. Coffee on the Corner was, without a doubt, the best coffee place in the town. Contrary to the shop's name, Coffee on the Corner was actually nestled between Colin's Comics and Musical Melodies, Alfred supposed that they were trying to be ironic and the comical touch was not lost on him.

He supposed he loved the coffee shop for many reasons. The sound of the bell tinkling as he pushed the door open, the way the smell of coffee welcomed him as he entered, embracing him like an old friend. He loved the staff, the way they always served with a smile and never failed to ask him how he was as he ordered. He had gotten particularly close to a green-eyed brunette whose name tag read "Elizaveta!" and who never failed to ask him about his love life with a suggestive wink and a gesture in the direction of the Brit by the bookshelf.

The décor was another reason he loved Coffee on the Corner. It was cosy and almost personal without being intrusive. In typical coffee shop style, the colour scheme was a light brown and almost all of the surfaces were made of wood. The walls were lined with quotes, but they were all different. You could pay three dollars to write a quote on the wall and, as long as it wasn't anything vulgar, they were not allowed to erase it. Alfred was always tempted to write something, but he never knew what he'd write and he didn't want to write something meaningless or something that he would regret. In truth, he was waiting for the right quote, the right time. He knew it would happen someday.

There were a variety of chairs in the coffee shop from stiff, dining chairs to cushiony armchairs. He tended to sit in one of the booths whilst Arthur perched in the seat directly opposite him in the same booth, a book was always perched in his lap as he pretended not to notice Alfred. Alfred didn't mind though. Sometimes, he would have bought a Marvel comic from Colin's shop and would sit in a peaceful silence as he read about superheroes and Arthur read about Wonderland or Ebenezer Scrooge.

As Alfred made his way to the shop, he found himself thinking about Arthur and the first time they had met and how it had completely changed his life in the best possible way…

It was February 1st and Alfred F. Jones was absolutely freezing. It had to have been one of the coldest days in New York Alfred had ever experienced. Thankfully, there was no snow. Snow just made everything difficult and Alfred really did not feel like trudging through the slush as he tried to grasp onto his dignity by not falling over. He was heading towards the location of his newest, and most brilliant, discovery: Coffee on the Corner. Mattie, his brother, had told him all about it a few weeks back and Alfred had decided to pay it a visit. Much to his surprise, Matthew had been right; the place was amazing and the coffee was delicious.

Alfred walked into the shop, the bell tinkling as he pushed the door open and he headed for the counter. He looked around the place to see, to his dismay, that it was utterly full. All of the tables were taken by shoppers escaping the bitter cold and Alfred internally wept at the thought of having to drink it outside, on the way home.

"Hello again Alfred," Elizaveta greeted and Alfred smiled, somewhat surprised that she remembered him.

"Hey Elizaveta, how are you?" Alfred leant on the counter, glancing hopefully around the room for an empty spot, somewhere to rest his weary feet.

"I'm good thanks, I can't complain," she beamed, grabbing a large mug from the shelf. "Let me guess, a large caramel latte, right?"

Alfred's mouth gaped open; she had gotten his exact order. "Can you read minds or something? You remembered my name and my order. You totally have some kind of mystical power." Alfred pulled out a five dollar bill from his pocket. "I'm just a mere mortal in your presence," Alfred jested as Elizaveta rolled her eyes and fixed his drink.

She finished with a flourish and Alfred felt his mouth water as she pushed the drink across the counter. "That'll be three dollars, please." Alfred gave her the five and told her to keep the change as a tip.

Elizaveta grinned and placed the remaining money in the tips jar. "If you're looking for somewhere to sit, there's a spare seat over at that table." Alfred followed Elizaveta's gaze to the far corner by the window where two, spacious cushioned chairs resided. A man, around Alfred's age he guessed, was sat in the booth, a book balanced in his lap. There was a table in-between the two chairs where the man's mug sat.

"Do you know the guy?" Alfred asked, curious as usual. He seemed nice enough, though he couldn't really see much from his position and, anyway, looks didn't define a personality. His mother had told him that enough times.

Elizaveta drummed her fingers on the table, considering. "Uh, not really. He tends to come in on every Friday but he hasn't been here recently. He told me he was visiting his family in England." At that, Alfred's eyebrows rose causing Elizaveta to giggle knowingly. "Yes, he's British and yes, he does have the gorgeous accent."

Alfred bit his lip, should he go over there? He wasn't sure. He knew how intrusive it would seem and he could always just ask Elizaveta to make his drink one to take-away. In the end, the desire to stay warm won out and Alfred took his drink and said goodbye to Elizaveta.

"Good luck~" Alfred shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips as he stood next to the table. "Uh, hey, I was just wondering if-," the man looked up sharply and Alfred questioned whether this had been a good idea after all. "Could I sit here?"

The man hesitated before nodding curtly and returning to his book.

"Thanks!" Alfred grinned and slid into the booth, placing his drink on the table. Alfred glanced around the room, catching Elizaveta's eye and she winked at the two of them. He's cute, she mouthed and Alfred rolled her eyes. He was so not interested.

Come to think of it though, the man didn't look so bad. He had blonde, messy hair that Alfred, for some reason, wanted to run his hands through. He had a small head and a small nose but a beautifully shaped jawline and shapely lips. Despite the previous glare, the man's eyes were very attractive; they were a startling green colour that reminded Alfred of being outdoors and camping in the forest. He almost reminded Alfred of home not that that made any sense given that the man was both British and a complete stranger.

Alfred cleared his throat, causing the man to startle. "So," he started, trying to ease the suffocating awkwardness, "do you come here often?"

The man placed his bookmark at the top of his page, clearly annoyed by the fact that he could no longer read in peace and glared at Alfred once more. "If by 'here' you mean the coffee shop, then yes I do. I like to read here. It's peaceful, don't you think?"

Alfred knew the question was rhetorical and so he took a long sip of his drink- God, it was delicious- and wished he hadn't have bothered asking. He placed his cup down. "I only just started coming here. My brother told me about this place and I just had to check it out! It's awesome."

"How fascinating," the man said, folding his arms. Alfred got the feeling that he was being sarcastic and that maybe, just maybe, Alfred wasn't all that interesting.

"So, when did you move to New York? I'm guessing you're British, right?"

"English," the man stressed, sighing. "I'm English, not British. God, if I had a quid for every time somebody said that I'd be-,"

"Totally screwed," Alfred said grinning. "A quid's not gonna get you anywhere in America. Now, if you had a dollar whenever someone said that, it'd be a different story."

The man studied Alfred awhile, maybe he was trying to come up with some kind of sarcastic response. Alfred almost braced himself for some sort of insult. Instead, the Brit simply shrugged, and Alfred was sure there was a small smile on his face. "Quite so," he muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

Spurred on by this miniature sign of friendship, Alfred pointed at the Brit's book. "So, what are you reading?"

The man flushed and placed the book into his bag. "It's just something my mother bought me, that's all," Alfred titled his head to the side and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Arthur sighed and shifted in his seat. "If you must know, it's Peter Pan, the classic by J. M. Barrie."

"I don't think that's childish at all," Alfred assured him, tracing circles on the table top. "I mean, I love the idea of Peter Pan, never growing-up and all that stuff. It's the greatest thought, right? Who wants to get older?"

Arthur nodded. "Exactly! I was always insanely jealous of Peter as a child, I still am, he gets to stay in Neverland whilst we are all stuck fighting the inevitable war between aging and trying to live in the moment."

Alfred shook his head, his cowlick bobbing as he moved. "You see that's the part that people always get wrong: we're not fighting life, we're controlling it."

They lapsed into a thoughtful silence then and Alfred wondered whether he'd ever see this man again. The chances were unlikely, given that he didn't even know the Brit's name.

"There's more to you than meets the eye, Alfred," the man said, grabbing his bag from under the table.

Alfred started, saddened by the fact that the man was leaving. "How do you know my name?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and stood. "You and Elizaveta over there don't exactly have the quietest of voices. I'm certain that the whole shop overheard your somewhat entertaining exchange."

Alfred just sat there, a blush rushing to his face. Had they spoken about the Brit? He couldn't remember though he didn't think so.

"I'm Arthur, by the way, and yes I do have the utterly gorgeous accent," Alfred glanced over at Elizaveta, silently cursing her for putting him in this awkward position. "And whilst I am cute," he gave Alfred an appraising look, roaming his eyes over the American's body appreciatively, "it seems that I am not the only one." He winked- winked- (though there was a slight blush on Arthur's face) and he sauntered out of the shop.

Alfred could only sit, slightly stunned and wondering what on Earth had just happened.

The bell sounded as Alfred eased the door open and made his way to the counter. He greeted Elizaveta and their latest employee Gilbert (who also happened to be one of Alfred's best friends), grabbed a caramel latte and headed to their spot by the window. Arthur was already the booth; his hands were wrapped protectively around his mug of what Alfred knew was tea and he was absentmindedly staring out the window.

Alfred sat across from him, sliding his drink onto the table. "Hey!"

Arthur turned to face Alfred and smiled. Alfred always told him that he should smile more, it suited him. "Hello Alfred. How have you been?"

"I've been great, thanks! How's the book coming along?" Arthur wrote for a living and he had informed Alfred that he was in the midst of a new one, one that was loosely based around them apparently. Alfred had felt so happy when he'd told him but also rather confused. Surely, only true love deserved to be made into a story so why did Arthur feel the need to write about them? Arthur had made it perfectly clear that they were operating under some sort of Friday friends-with-benefits type of thing and Alfred had been okay with that. Yet, somehow, it felt more serious than that, more meaningful. Neither one of them had seen anybody else since they had met and Alfred knew Arthur better than he knew anyone else. He just wasn't sure what this all meant. Arthur could be very confusing when he wanted to be.

"The book's coming along fine thanks," Arthur stated. He leant back against the booth, shifting his position. "What about you? How's college life? How's that psychology teacher of yours? Does he still hate you?" Alfred's psychology teacher, Professor Braginsky, not only hated him, he loathed the very ground the American walked upon. Alfred swore that the guy was crazy himself, he could not understand why he'd even gotten the job in the first place.

"Hate is an understatement," Alfred rolled his eyes, flicking at his mug. "He'd like to see my head on a pike, I swear to God."

It was Arthur's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm sure that's not quite true, Alfred. You do so love to exaggerate."

"Believe me it's not an exaggeration" Alfred mumbled, staring out of the window. He noticed, sadly, that Arthur's mug was empty meaning the Brit was going to leave in a minute.

"Hey, Arthur?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"How long are we going to be doing this for?" Alfred bit his lip nervously as he waited for the Brit's answer, not sure that he actually wanted to hear it after all.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked and Alfred sighed internally. This was classic Arthur. You couldn't talk about anything serious without skirting around the edges first; he never wanted to get directly to the point. Alfred just guessed that certain emotions made him uncomfortable.

"I mean," Alfred thought about wording it indirectly but decided against it. "The whole sex-on-Fridays thing. You know, dating but not really? This whole friends-with-benefits thing we've got going on."

"Alfred!" Arthur hissed. His face had gone a bright red at some point during Alfred's outburst. He looked like a tomato. "Say it a bit louder, why don't you? I don't think the old lady at the nearest bus station heard you."

Alfred tried to look apologetic, but he really wasn't bothered. The only people he knew in here were Elizaveta and Gilbert and they totally knew everything, anyway. "I'm sorry but, seriously, Arthur, answer the question."

Arthur seemed exasperated. "I don't know, Alfred. I just don't know. Why, do you want to stop? We don't have to do this anymore if you don't want to."

How could Alfred explain that he did want to but in a different way? That he no longer only felt lust for Arthur, but love. Arthur might not want to see him again, might not want them to be together anymore. Alfred didn't think he'd be able to cope if that happened. Like it or not, he needed Arthur; he needed their Fridays.

"I do want to! I was just wondering whether you were, uh, planning on being in a proper relationship or something." Alfred wondered if that was too obvious, wondered whether Arthur heard the extra with me at the end of that sentence.

Arthur sighed and shook his head, looking almost fondly at Alfred. "I don't think so. I mean, who would want me as a partner?"

I would. Alfred shrugged his shoulders as he drank some more of his drink. He placed his cup on the table. "There's someone for everyone, Artie."

Arthur just raised an eyebrow and hummed dismissively. "Anyway," Arthur said, grabbing his bag from under the table and preparing to leave. "Are we still on for tonight?"

Despite his emotional turmoil, Alfred felt the familiar pang of excitement, the feeling that, before all of this newfound confusion, would have been there all day. "Yeah, of course we are. Same time, same place?" He asked.

"Yes, that'll be fine," Arthur said. "Your place or mine after?"

"I'm feeling my place. What about you?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes, your bed is much more comfortable." He winked, one of those if you know what I mean winks.

Alfred felt that pang once more. "Alrighty then, I'll see you later."

Arthur smiled and nodded, taking that as his cue to walk out. Alfred caught Elizaveta looking at Alfred, a quizzical expression on his face. Is everything okay? Alfred nodded and smiled, though he didn't exactly feel like smiling.

He was in love with Arthur Kirkland. Theirs was a relationship that was only supposed to be sexual, other than that, they were just friends. He just wasn't sure what to do next. He finished his drink, grabbed his bag and waved goodbye to Elizaveta and Gilbert who was, for some reason, balancing a spoon on his nose. The customers were counting how long he could keep it up. Alfred rolled his eyes and headed for the door but not before glancing at the quote wall. There was still a blank space reserved for Alfred, if only he had something to put there. He walked out, feeling emptier than ever.

A/N: Okay, so this was one of those plot bunnies that just wouldn't go away!

It's not going to be a very long fic, probably just three or four chapters, but there will be smut (just to warn ya'll)

Thanks for reading!

~BooksAreLikeChocolateButBetter