"Hi sir, can I get you anything?" the waiter asked.
Arthur looked up from his laptop. It was the same waiter that asked him if he wanted anything ten minutes ago. In fact, it was the same waiter that asked him the same thing every week. Arthur made it a point to get off his lazy ass at least once a week to get some fresh air, only to get back on his laptop and continue working. His go-to place was this little café that was quiet and served adequate food, but the staff could use a bit of work.
Just like every time the waiter comes over Arthur replies with a quick "No, thank you." and returns to his laptop and into his own world.
But this time the man lingered. He didn't say anything' he just stared at the blond. Arthur continued to type away and tried to ignore him, but it was proving difficult. Arthur was never one to be put in the spot light, and it even made him squirm when others gave so much as a glance at him.
Regretting it, he looked up from his computer and at the man before him. The young man was defiantly good looking, even a blind man could tell, but one can also tell that his one was wild. Arthur could tell by his posture and his speech. He didn't have a care in the world. By taking one look at the young man's strong build, Arthur knew he was into sports. He could be playing that rubbish American sport: football. The coloring of his blond hair was most likely due to the extensive time spent in the sun, which was the only way one could get such a perfect golden blond. His hair was tussled in a manner that can only be described as 'perfect-bed-head'. A pair of glasses covered beautiful light blue eyes. They rivaled the purest of topazes and shined bright with such lightness, such wonder, such child-like amusement.
Perfect. There was no other word to describe him. He'd make the perfect character in this story I'm writing! It probably wasn't the thing to be thinking about at the moment, but he simply couldn't help it.
"So," he started, "what are you always typing on that thing?"
"Sorry?" he replies a bit confused.
"Well it's just . . . you come here once a week, you hardly order anything, and you're always typin' on your computer. I'm just wonderin' what you're always doin' on that thing." The waiter smiled as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his apron. He was definitely American; Arthur could spot that obnoxious accent a mile away.
Arthur wasn't use to people coming up to him and just talking to him. Heck, he wasn't use to talking to people in general. He found it odd that some random person would come up and talk to him, but maybe that's how the rest of the world worked. He didn't know.
"Oh, well, I'm actually typing a novel," he answered simply. He hoped that would be enough for the blond but apparently it only stuck up more conversation.
"A novel, really? That's awesome dude! I'm gonna guess that this is your fifth, sixth one, maybe?"
Arthur chuckled into his fist. "Oh no, lad. This will only be my third in my series."
The man's eyes lit up, "A series? Wow that's cool! What's the title, I wanna check them out!"
The Brit's eyes widened. No one was ever interested in his stories, let alone someone so young. He was sure that the waiter wouldn't understand the intricate plot and symbolism within the stories. The vocabulary alone would probably leave his head spinning.
However, the blond decided to play along and he answered, "Treasures of the Deep."
"OH! Is it an adventure story? It sure sounds like one! Oh, does the hero go into the deep ocean to go find a lost treasure of some pirates? OH, then does he run into some evil bad guy and then the hero beats him up? That would be a great story!" The waiter spit out questions faster than Arthur could comprehend them. This man –no –this child had some motor mouth on him.
"Uh, no. Actually it's a mystery and horror novel," Arthur said slowly. He really wanted to get back to typing or he would lose his train of thought.
"H-h-h-h-horror? O-oh? T-that sounds a-awesome!. . ." the waiter stuttered. He began to look around frantically and he even began to shake a bit.
"Are you alright, lad?" Arthur asked. He had to; the poor boy looked like he'd seen his grave.
The blue eyed man cleared his throat and gave a shaky laugh, "Yeah, sorry about that. I just don't do horror stuff like ghosts or monsters or. . ." He began to pale again as his voice trailed off. Arthur was beginning to feel bad for the poor boy; he was truly terrified of anything super natural. Perhaps his books weren't for him considering how many 'spooky' stuff happens within them. Although, he will admit that watching all the blood drain from the young man's face was quite amusing.
"Breath mate, breath," Arthur soothed the best he could. After a few deep breaths, the American was looking back to normal and Arthur relaxed back into his seat. "You know," Arthur stated once the waiter regained color in his face, "I am feeling quite parched right now. I could go for some tea."
"Tea?" the blond said excitedly, like he was finally going to get to serve this mysterious Brit.
"Yes. Earl Gray, if you have any."
The waiter's face broke out in a beautifully wide grin as he replied with a quick, "Sure thing!" and darted back to the counter to make the Brit's beverage.
Arthur shook his head with a slight chuckle at how giddy the other looked as he weaved his way around tables just to get him some tea. A child. A pure child.
The blond turned back to his laptop and worked for a total of five minutes before the American was back with his glass of Earl Gray in hand. He got to type a total of three sentences before he was once again interrupted. He was more irritated at himself than at his waiter for typing so slowly and for the inspiration for not hitting him harder.
The waiter set down his drink and put his check down next to it. Arthur nodded him off with a thank you in tow. The other blond smiled, flashing those brilliant teeth, and then retreated to the back kitchen and out of sight from the Brit.
Arthur took a sip of tea and thought how it wasn't the worst cup of Earl Grey he's ever had, but it was a tad too sweet and could be stronger. As he set his cup down, his check decided to be difficult and drifted away from its spot on the table to the ground. Letting a small swear slip past his lips, he reached down to the flimsy piece of paper.
When he placed it back on the table he was about to go right back to work, but he noticed writing on the back of it with pen. Looking at it closely, he read the simple message, "Call me" and a number scribbled under it.
The blond's face began to burn up and he whipped his head to and fro trying to find the American, only to realize that he was still in the safe combines of the staff kitchen.
Arthur didn't really know what to think. He was never popular enough to get someone's number and certainly not a handsome American's number. Hell, the waiter didn't even know if he was gay or not! Hell, he didn't even know Arthur's age! He could be a stuffy old man for all he knew, or someone far too young! Arthur didn't even know the waiter's age. What if he was just a kid? Arthur didn't want to be a pedophile!
But the blond was pretty good looking, and did seem generally interested in you, he thought to himself as he stared down the piece of paper.
Not really knowing what else to do, Arthur slipped the piece of paper into his pocket. He packed up his things, paid for his drink (the person at the register was a different person, mind you) and left the café. Little did he know that there was a happy American behind the kitchen doors that did a small happy dance when he saw the Brit slide his number into his pocket, as opposed to throwing it away.
Yay for one-shots! This was an idea that popped in my head when I went to a restaurant with my family and I saw this one table that was pushed in the back of the room that would only seat one person. I thought how sad that would look if one person was sitting in the back of the room like a loner, so naturally England came to mind XD
I don't own any of the characters that were used above, I just thought of the stupid story.
