"So you have never had a girlfriend?"
"No."
"boyfriend perhaps"
"What? No I'm not gay." Alfred cringed at the boy sitting next to him. Just who was this boy? He looked around. White. Everything was white.
"Well, you've never had a girlfriend." A pause. He was eating a sandwich. Did he always have that? The ground turned to grass and the two males were both sitting on a soft, brown, wool blanket. "And you are kind of dreaming about a boy, so I just assumed."
"Dream?" A bright blue sky appeared, fluffy white clouds followed suit. The sun was orange-ish, red and shined right onto the uncaring blond. He felt like he was in some cheesy romance movie. He looked over at me and smiled, shaking his head.
"Are writers always this ditzy? It's cute, It's different." A Redbud (or Cercis Canadensis if you want to get specific) appeared behind the both of us. A lake formed in the distance. The boy's eyes were amethyst. What a strange color. He was pale and had long, skinny fingers with dainty wrist to go along. His hair stopped about an inch from his chin. Very feminine for a man.
"I'm not ditzy! Wait, that's not important here. Who are you?" His shirt was red and he was wearing tan shorts. His body was lanky, however, his skin looked soft. His hair looked silky while blowing in the cool summer wind. Flowers grew around them. The young American guessed it was summer. Felt that way. The stranger was staring at the sky, it seemed he was searching for something. He then proceeded to wiped his mouth and moved closer. He smelled like flowers in a strawberry field. Straight white teeth showed with a smile. He spoke, barely above a whisper.
"Oh, Alfred. You really are a ditz." He slowly started leaning closer to his face. His skinny fingers gently gripped the American's chin and pulled him forward. Alfred felt like his heart was going to burst from his chest. He was weird-ed out from this whole dream, but he became excited about kissing this boy. This mysterious amethyst eyed boy. He placed his hand on the blond's thigh. So close. The pink, plush lips were right there.
And Alfred jolted awake.
The alarm clocked buzzed especially loud this rainy fall day. His hand slammed the clock. Alfred always hated that clock, but today, he really fucking hated that clock. He tried to go back to sleep. To join the beautiful world of green grass and oddly colored eyes. There was no success. The writer groaned loudly into his pillow. Alfred slowly lifted his body up from the bed and placed his feet on the floor. The 26 year old rubbed his eyes while grabbing for his glasses which laid on the bed's end table.
He placed the glasses on the ridge of his nose. A heavy sigh. He opened the drawer that was part of the end table. In it was a few writing supplies and a dream journal. As a writer, Alfred finds dreams the key to writing because the mind doesn't hold back. He wrote all his dreams down even if they seemed absolutely boring and pointless. The dullest of dreams could actually end up being the most exciting. (Alfred knows this from experience, when he dreamed of having to take a test. After staring at the writing entry for two days he made it so the test was a way of finding out what types of soldiers these young teens were going to be. The year of the story was 3025 in space and had the genre of Sci-Fi, Romance. The book was in the top five of New-York Times best-sellers for six months and is still selling quite nicely. He was only 19 when he wrote that book. The Soldier's Rebel. He always smiles when he sees it on the book shelves) So there was obviously going to be no way in hell that Alfred wasn't going to write about the dream. Would he turn something like this into a book? No way. Way too embarrassing and would probably be insanely stupid and boring. Besides, how many people could possibly like reading about two men falling in love? Ten at most? Possibly more, but this didn't matter because he wasn't going to turn it into a book.
He finished the entry, marked the date, and put the journal and pencil back into the drawer. The clock read 6:00. A half-an-hour had passed. Good, he was on schedule. Alfred quickly got up to shower and start his day. After hygiene hour he would clean. The successful writer had a huge modern mansion so this would take two hours and two hours exactly. His morning schedule was most important because it led into his afternoon schedule which would later lead into his evening schedule. This was most important because this was when he wrote. Alfred thought about how he was called a ditz. His shoulders shook as he laughed. He was the total opposite of unorganized. And the American liked his life that way. He had no reason for adventure because he could live through all his writing. Same with romance. He felt no need for it when he could write about it. Though, Alfred will admit the dream he had was nice.
Alfred finished cleaning his house. Not much since the man tended to clean as he made a mess. He use to be a slob, the biggest slob you would probably ever meet, but letting the house go without cleaning for two weeks was only a hassle. Hard-work, boring, and took many hours he could have used for writing. So he tried to keep himself away from the sin of Sloth.
When Alfred checked his clock, only 45 minutes had passed out of the two hours of cleaning time he had. The sound of a stomach growling filled the room. Eating early wouldn't hurt and it would also mean he could go to the coffee shop down the street. Aujourd'hui, demain Cafe. Which means Today-Tomorrow Cafe in English. A strange name, but Alfred has never tasted better coffee. Alfred threw on his brown bomber jacket and blue converse, the inside of the shoe was red with white stars. The shoes were a birthday gift from his brother Arthur and he would never deny not liking them.
A warm breeze from the heating in the cafe hit the youth's face. Coffee, caramel, and cinnamon filled the air. A soft inhale came from Alfred. He loved the way this cafe smelt. The atmosphere of the building was soft and gentle. The walls were a tint of gold and some blue birds with green wings were painted on the wall, along with some dark green vines that went all around the room. It was a work of art.
Alfred had just gotten in line when a hand laid on his shoulder and turned to see who it was. There was a small feeling on who it was, he hoped the feeling was going to be incorrect. The feeling was correct.
"Damn it."
"Fuck you, Alfred." It was none other than Arthur. Eyes dark and narrowed. Anyone could tell he was seething with rage and from the fact that he was wearing a black hoodie that covered all of his hair, the prank Al had pulled must have worked. "What the hell is wrong with you? Look at my hair it's green, it's fucking green!" He pulled his hood up, but it was in a manner so that only the younger brother could see. The youth only laughed at the damage he had done. Drawing attention from everyone in the cafe. Arthur punched him in the arm.
"Ow!- I'm sorry it's just so funny!"
"This is in no way funny and I have every right to beat you black and blue in this very restaurant." It was the American's turn to order his food and beverage.
"A garlic and onion bagel with cream cheese and a medium Cappuccino for me and for Arthur-"
"I don't want anything." Alfred shook his hand at Arthur's face to quiet him down, his eyes however never left the menu. The Brit rolled his eyes. Everything was calm in the Cafe till Alfred started laughing and ordered some drink called...Green Eye? The older brother's fist clenched and teeth grit. This man he called brother was a little asshole.
After paying for the items they both took their drinks (and bagel) and sat at a small black table. Arthur kept his hood up the whole time and spent ten minutes lecturing Alfred on how pranks were wrong and immature. His little brother barely listened and in the end shrugged it off. After that little conversation they switched to a new one. Mostly just small talk on how the other was doing. Same old, same old.
"Well I must be going, I have an appointment with a new patient and I really do not want to be late."
"Yeah I should be leaving soon too. It was nice seeing you though."
"Very. We should do it more often."
"We should." It became silent for a few seconds. Alfred got up and Arthur copied the action. The youth quickly pulled his brother into a hug, gripping lightly on the black hoodie. He rested his face in the older sibling's neck. "Much more." The Brit slowly rubbed his brother's back. Moments like this were still very foreign and awkward for both men but was starting to become more common. They pulled apart and Arthur left for work. Alfred watched him drive off before picking up the trash on the table. He checked the clock on his phone and then left the Cafe.
He had missed the person who sat in the back of the room. Blond with strangely colored eyes. A spitting image from the American writer's dream. The young boy had glimpsed quickly up at the man leaving, nothing special about him. So the blond went to finish sketching a tree that was in his dream last night. A Redbud, or Cercis Canadensis if you want to get specific.
This took so long to write, like four hours. ugh so tired. And yeah sorry about it being kind of boring but i promise that there will be more AmeCan action. (I mean yeah there will be some sweet dreams like the one in the beginning but Alfred is a young man who has deprived his body of sexual actions for long enough, a wet dream is bound to happen some time.) (( I'm blushing at that..what the hell is wrong with me?)) I am a little rusty on my writing so please bear with me. Favorite, Review, follow. Whatever it is that you crazy kids do now a days. For those of you who want more quick updates on this story (or just read some short side stories)my tumblr url is whereisthewhiteout. Same as on here. Thank you for reading. All My Love.