One Hundred Love Confessions

Part I

There's something about Matthew Williams that makes Alfred Jones lose all of his eloquence and st-st-stutter like some lovesick schoolgirl on their first meeting. He's never really taken an interest in boys nor girls in his twenty-four years, and Matthew has set a precedent; no one has ever made him feel like this before.

"Um, hello?"

Maybe it's Matthew's eyes. Alfred is positive that he can spend a whole day just staring into those dark blue orbs - or are they indigo? He vows to find out. (And perhaps on the way, he'll gather enough guts to ask the other out to lunch.)

"You're Alfred, right?"

Matthew's voice is smooth and quiet. He sounds soft-spoken and looks like the shy type, wearing that red over-sized hoodie with a white maple leaf printed on the front. Slung diagonally around his torso is a messenger bag that looks like it's about to burst open and spill its contents. Alfred could catch glimpses of notebooks inside. So Matthew is a writer?

"I'm just moving in today, right next to your apartment. I don't make a lot of noise; don't worry."

And his hair. It's blond, like Alfred's own, but a shade lighter. It's slightly curly(wavy?), stopping about two inches or so below his ear. A few stray strands slightly obscure his eyes, and Alfred notices a strand that sticks out in particular. He almost laughs.

"Alfred?"

Oh. Matthew's speaking to him. Alfred just realizes this, blinking for a few moments. "Y-Yeah?" he st-st-stutters. He raises a hand to push his glasses up his nose even though they aren't slipping. It's a bad habit that kicks in whenever he's nervous.

At that moment, he feels like doing it a hundred more times.

"I'm sorry, you must be busy." Matthew rubs the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. "I just wanted to say hi. I'm sorry if I'm getting in your way..." He steps aside from where he was standing in front of Alfred's apartment.

"No, no." Alfred shakes his head. He grins and inwardly congratulates himself for at least not stuttering. "It's nice to meet someone who isn't that old lady down the hall." Or who isn't any of the other tenants, really. He's not really fond of any of his neighbors.

Matthew laughs. Alfred watches in interest as the other blond opens his messenger bag, take out a notebook and a pen, and open to a page in the middle. He waits for him to say something, but Matthew just uncaps the pen with his mouth and scribbles something down onto the paper.

"Um, are you a reporter?" Alfred asks. He hates reporters. But he's genuinely curious, though sure that he only managed to sound stupid.

Re-capping the pen, Matthew shakes his head. His eyes twinkle in something that Alfred can't quite identify. "No," he answers. "I'm... Well, I'll tell you someday." He smiles.

Alfred's breath hitches. They stand there for about a full minute of pure awkward silence. Alfred opens his mouth and blurts, "Do you wanna grab some lunch with me?" at the same time Matthew says, "I should go help my brother unpack."

There's another brief silence. "Oh." Alfred hopes he doesn't sound too disappointed. "Maybe, um, tomorrow then?" He also hopes he doesn't sound too desperate. (Even though he is. He's just met Matthew, but he wants to spend more time with him, get to know him, and maybe even-)

"Tomorrow?" Matthew's smile falters and his eyes flicker down to the floor. His shoulders slump. Now he looks a little...sad. "Tomorrow," he repeats.

Alfred nods, happy albeit confused. "It's a date." He adds a wink here, and thank God, his confidence is back and he's not st-st-stuttering anymore.

"I'll see you then." The smile is back on Matthew's lips. Alfred watches him take a few steps backward. "I-I should go help Francis now..." Matthew turns and walks away, presumably to his brother. Alfred can't help but notice how he takes his notebook out and scribbles something down again.

. . .

The next day, Matthew doesn't remember him.

"Lunch...?" Matthew stands in the doorway of his apartment, eyeing Alfred warily. His hand is on the door, as if ready to slam it shut if needed be.

Alfred doesn't know whether to feel bewildered or hurt. "Uh huh, lunch. Yesterday, you...you said that you'd come with me for lunch," he explains. He hopes he doesn't sound pushy; maybe Matthew really forgot. But is Alfred that forgettable? He has never had any trouble being remembered before, whether it be because he received an award for his athletic endeavors or because he broke some girl's heart.

He's become so wrapped up in his thoughts that he misses half of Matthew's reply: "...don't recall speaking to you."

Alfred blinks. "Uh, can you say that again?" he requests.

Matthew shuts the door in his face.

. . .

Midnight finds Alfred stumbling out of a cab and into the apartment complex, drunk as hell. His brother Arthur helps him up the stairs, though he isn't any better off. He's drunk, too.

"And, and, he just, like, bam! He slams the door in front of me!" By this point Alfred is woeful and barely aware of what he's saying. It just feels nice to be able to tell someone, even though that someone is his brother. They aren't as close as they used to be, but he digresses...

"That's horrible," Arthur slurs in response. "He sounds like an arse."

Alfred has this brilliant rant ready to come out, but then they reach his door and lo and behold, Matthew is there, curled up against the wood, asleep. Alfred accidentally lets go of his brother in his haste to see what this indigo-eyed beauty is doing.

"Matthew?" He touches his shoulder, and he hopes he did it gently. Being drunk has a tendency to make him feel numb. "Wh-What'cha doing outside my room?"

Eyelids flutter open and suddenly Matthew is gazing right into his eyes. Alfred feels everything around them fade - including Arthur's heavy cussing - and to him, it's just them. Just them.

Matthew seems to realize that it's Alfred, and jumps up to his feet, almost knocking their heads together. "I-I'm sorry! I came over to...um..." His eyebrows furrow in confusion. He opens up his book, flips to a page, and takes a few seconds to read.

Meanwhile, Alfred coos incoherent praises to Matthew's lovely hair.

"O-Oh! Yes, I came over to apologize for snapping at you earlier." He looks sheepish suddenly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just, um, I forgot that I'd agreed to going out to lunch with you. It's obviously too late now, but we can always reschedule tomorrow." He stops there, blushing.

Only half of the words register in Alfred's hazy mind, but he understands enough to feel giddy with happiness. "Sounds good!" he chirps, and then sways forward slightly.

Matthew casts an amused look at him. "Are you drunk?" he questions.

Alfred opens his mouth to answer, "Maaaybe," but then he falls over unconscious.

. . .

The next morning, Alfred wakes up with a hangover and no recollection of the previous night.

He's making himself a cup of coffee, barely awake, when he realizes there's something written on his arm: Come over for lunch?

And suddenly, his hangover doesn't feel as bad.

A/N: So. I've hit a (permanent?) roadblock for majority my multi-chaptered fics. I really wish I can update them all, but school and extracurricular activities are keeping me busy almost everyday. This is what I get for being an overachiever...

I plan to update Threeway soon, maybe in a week or two. As for my other stories... We'll see.

Until I find time, expect sporadic oneshots. D: