Hi everyone! This is more lighthearted than some of my other stories, so it was fun to write. I hope you enjoy the first chapter!
The chapters alternate between Alfred's and Arthur's point of view, beginning with Alfred's!
Please remember to review and let me know your thoughts!
"So this is...uh...Arthur?"
"Yes, Alfred," his mother sighed, brushing her hair over her shoulder impatiently. "Your engagement party is in three months. You know that! And I can't have you making a fool of yourself in front of everyone. Especially Natalia's parents. They already don't think well of you, and I can't have you adding to that."
"I know, but it isn't a big deal; I mean, she's not marrying me for my crazy dance skills..." Alfred protested, pouting slightly. "I'm barely twenty. This whole thing is messed up. Besides, you told me you only got married to Dad when you were -"
"Yes, but not just any twenty year old," his father cut in sternly. "You will inherit the company, and you need a strong partner to take some of that weight. A good woman, with an intelligent head on her shoulders. Like your mother. Besides, you've met Natalia before. She's a beautiful, smart...passionate woman."
"She's three years older than me, Dad! It's just too awkward!"
And passionate was an understatement. Natalia kind of scared Alfred, and that was saying something.
"The only one who's awkward is you, Alfred. Now, no more of this talk," his mother said strictly. "You will meet with Arthur today at five PM sharp. I've heard he's extremely punctual -"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Alfred frowned. "He's perfect, he's everything you ever wanted me to be, I get it. Punctual, the perfect gentleman. Whatever."
His father frowned, and Alfred shrunk back a bit.
"We love you, Alfred," his mother said softly. "You understand that, yes?"
It was the tone she had used with Alfred as a child, the tone she used when she was coaxing him gently. When she wanted him to feel safe and comfortable.
"I know," Alfred sighed. "I love you guys too."
"Okay," his mother said, smiling. "So go try out those dance shoes we got you. You don't have anything else today."
"Okay," Alfred said sullenly as he dragged himself off the sofa. He went up the stairs to his room, feeling horrible as he slammed the door behind him.
The whole situation was damn frustrating.
He looked down and found that he had kept the profile of Arthur in his hand. He stared at it again, frowning to himself.
The guy was a Brit named Arthur Kirkland. He had shaggy blond hair that was lighter than his own, with green eyes and pale skin. He wasn't smiling at the camera when the photo was taken.
He was probably some stuck up grouch who just happened to know how to dance.
But according to his parents, the guy was a perfect gentleman, freshly imported from England by his father, who was Alfred's father's business associate and friend.
This entire thing was ridiculous. He didn't want to be bossed around by some angry dude with an accent, and he didn't want to be forced into a marriage when he barely knew and definitely didn't love the girl!
It was as if he had just stepped into a soap opera or TV drama. Except he was the victim, not the cool hero who got the girl he loved.
He tossed the photo of Arthur onto his bed with disdain, and sat down at his desk, running his hand through his hair in frustration.
He opened his laptop, seeing his screensaver of Captain America smiling at him with a thumbs-up sign.
Yeah, right.
He shut it quickly, spinning around in his chair.
At least Captain America was able to fall in love.
Alfred just...he just never found anyone that really clicked.
Alfred just wanted a girl who made him excited, who was all about having fun and helped him get his mind off things. Obviously, he needed an ideal relationship where he would be the hero, and they never argued, and she was super cute and nice and helpful.
Alfred wasn't too picky when it came to girls. Sure, it would be nice if she were hot, but he cared more about personality. He didn't want anyone too demanding, or clingy, or annoying. Or strict, or stern, or inflexible...
Okay, maybe he was kind of picky.
He just wanted someone fun-loving, like he was.
Like he wanted to be, at least. But it was tough being fun-loving while being his father's son.
Because his father wanted someone straitlaced and serious, someone who was ready to assist and take over the company one day, someone who was exactly the opposite of Alfred.
And having someone else's dream forced on him suffocated his ability to nurture his own.
He didn't even think about it anymore.
What he dreamt about doing.
Even thinking about it made him sick, like a tantalizing burger that he was never allowed to have...
He groaned, hitting his forehead on the chair.
He looked up miserably at his clock.
4:32.
Great. He would probably have to leave in 10 minutes to make sure he didn't disappoint this Arthur guy who apparently couldn't stand late people.
Ugh.
He knew they weren't going to get along.
Arthur's house was fairly large.
Then again, he wouldn't expect anything else of his father's friend. Apparently, Arthur lived in England with his mother, but he had come over to spend the summer in the United States.
He knocked on the door hesitantly, running a hand through his hair to make sure it was set in place.
Except that annoying cowlick. It was the one part of Alfred that symbolized everything his father hated about him.
It was defiant and wouldn't stay in place.
The door opened fairly quickly, and he looked down to find a man, a bit shorter than him, judging him with cold, green eyes.
"Ah. You must be Alfred."
"Oh, hey. And you're, uh...Arthur."
He thought he saw Arthur wrinkle his nose at him briefly, but he could have just imagined it. Either way, he felt like Arthur didn't look too impressed.
Damn it, why did he have to impress the guy anyway?
"Yes. Well, come in."
His voice was hard. Forced.
Maybe they both didn't want to do this anyway.
Alfred walked in, and Arthur immediately frowned.
"You're not going to remove your shoes?"
"Oh, uh...sorry."
Alfred quickly backpedalled, taking off his shoes quickly and walking in again with a small, embarrassed smile.
"Hm. Better." Arthur spun around and walked down the hall, turning towards a room to the right. He opened the door and went in without a word to Alfred.
Alfred would have spent time gaping at the gorgeous interior, but he knew Arthur would probably yell at him again so he rushed over to the room, quickly opening the door and almost bumping into Arthur.
"Oh! Sorry -"
"Do you have no self control?" Arthur inquired caustically, his thick eyebrows furrowed.
Alfred was happy to know Arthur had something off with him. Like Alfred's cowlick. He stored it in his memory in case he needed something to pick on Arthur for later.
"Hey, I said sorry," Alfred argued with a frown.
Arthur sighed, clearly unimpressed.
"I said -"
"I heard what you said, Alfred Jones. Are you ready to begin the lesson or not?"
"Did I do something to offend you?" Alfred asked bluntly, staring at Arthur.
Arthur took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Not yet," Arthur said, his chin tilted upwards. "But we shall see."
He walked across the wooden floor of the empty room, and Alfred saw a small CD player in the corner of the room on a chair.
"No way! Those still exist?"
"Amused, are you?" Arthur said, and Alfred thought he detected a hint of irritation in his voice.
God, was there anything that he said that didn't piss the guy off?
At this point he just wanted to go home.
But he knew his parents would kill him if he didn't try.
"So, what kind of dance are you gonna teach me?"
Arthur turned around, tilting his head slightly.
"You don't know what you want me to teach you?"
"Uh...dance?"
Arthur groaned, pressing his hand to his forehead.
"Uh...I dunno. Ballroom dance? That's what I need to learn for the engagement, anyway."
"What kind of girl is she?" Arthur inquired, gazing at Alfred. Alfred stiffened, and he saw that Arthur noticed. He tried to relax again.
"S-She's great," Alfred managed. "Uh...pretty. Interesting."
Arthur frowned slightly.
"Are you having issues with her?"
Arthur immediately covered his mouth with his hand as Alfred gaped at him.
"I'm sorry. Pardon me. That was insensitive."
"How could you tell?"
Arthur looked up at him, surprised.
"You don't mind me asking?"
"No, I mean, I don't really..." Alfred trailed off. "Um...actually, second thought, I probably shouldn't be telling anyone, but since you already asked, she's -"
"No need, then. Forget I said anything," Arthur said quickly, coughing.
"I really don't mind -"
"I don't care," Arthur cut him off harshly. "I assume a simple waltz will suffice?"
Alfred felt hurt, but he was determined not to show it. Not to give Arthur the satisfaction, because he was a heartless monster and he hated him.
"Yeah, whatever."
Arthur's mouth twitched.
"Whatever?"
He probably shouldn't have said that.
Alfred gulped as Arthur walked over to him slowly, his eyes ice. Alfred backed up a bit until he was in the doorway.
"Perhaps you need a while to gather your...thoughts. If you have any," Arthur said slowly, his voice low. "Until then, I suggest you stop wasting your time and mine."
"Wait, wait, wait!" Alfred exclaimed before Arthur shut the door on him. "I'm sorry! I just...uh, I'm not good at communicating with people."
Which was a lie. But he hoped Arthur would hate him slightly less.
Alfred's heart sunk as Arthur's frown grew larger, and he knew he was in deep water.
"So you mean to tell me that the heir to the Jones' multi-million dollar company, who had the best education in the entire bloody country, who was surrounded by the most affable friends and family in the nation, and who excelled in practically anything he did including going and making connections at exclusive parties, is not good at communicating with people?"
"..."
Arthur sighed, closing his eyes.
"You don't deny it."
"What?"
He opened his eyes again, and Alfred noticed that while they were still cold, they seemed to have something else in them as well. Curiosity wasn't the right word, but...
"Forget it. Come back when you have some semblance of what you need to learn."
"No, wait...what do you mean when you said I didn't deny it?"
"You accept the rumors?"
Alfred frowned.
"No. But you seemed so bent on believing them anyway that I thought it wasn't worth my time to try," he bit back, relieved that he was able to muster up some sort of counter attack to Arthur's assault.
"Is that what you think of me?" Arthur asked, his voice even. Dangerously calm.
"That's exactly what I think," Alfred responded without thinking.
"Then I suppose you do, in fact, have communication problems, Alfred. But you will have to hire another tutor for that."
"What?" Alfred exclaimed, glaring at the smaller man. How dare he say that to him?
"You can afford it, can't you?"
"Okay, look, I don't know who forgot to put sugar in your damn tea this morning, but -"
"Oh, how did you know?" Arthur asked sarcastically, putting his hands on his hips. "Did Mummy tell you that the big mean Englishman needs a spoonful of sugar?"
"Okay, I call her Mom like normal people, not Mum or Mummy or whatever the hell you just said."
"And is Mom aware that she sent her son out the door without his dancing shoes?"
Alfred stopped, his eyes narrowed.
"How do you know I forgot my dance shoes?"
"Lucky guess," Arthur smirked. "Though I can't say I'm surprised."
Okay. If he hated Arthur before, he really despised him now.
"Oh? And does knowing every damn thing about everyone make you feel better about yourself?"
"Infinitely," Arthur replied smugly.
And suddenly Alfred was a teenager again, barreling into Arthur furiously as the two toppled to the ground, Alfred on top.
"W-What the bloody hell are you doing?" Arthur hissed, his eyes glowing with rage as he tried to punch Alfred's chest. But Alfred quickly caught his fist in his hand, a victorious smirk on his face.
"Hah! Now who's on top?"
Arthur groaned as he struggled to free his hand.
"W-Whatever, Alfred, just get off of me -"
"Whatever?" Alfred mocked, his eyes wide. "What did you say again? Oh...do you need a while to gather your thoughts?"
"Alfred," Arthur said, his voice deadly, "If you do not get off of me this instant -"
"What are you gonna do?" Alfred teased, enjoying the moment immensely.
But when the victorious feeling wore off, he realized that Arthur was kind of red. And...sweating, a bit.
Alfred dismissed it immediately, thinking it was no big deal. Arthur was probably weird.
"I won't teach you how to bloody dance, and I won't be able to in a few minutes if you don't remove yourself immediately!"
"Aww. Backing out?"
Arthur was furious at this point, but Alfred was past being scared and past caring.
Until he realized that Arthur's cold mask was broken.
Was he...wincing?
"Hey, dude, are you okay?"
"Perfectly fine, if you'll get off."
Alfred quickly stood up, and he immediately understood the problem.
He had tripped over and crushed Arthur's foot when they fell.
And his ankle was swelling up.
A lot.
"Oh, shit."
"Indeed," Arthur said grimly, biting his lip as he slowly sat up, drawing his foot in to him as he examined it.
"H-Hey," Alfred said as he bent down in front of Arthur. "I-I didn't mean to -"
"Are you sure?" Arthur asked distractedly as he rolled up his pant and pulled down his sock.
"Of course!" Alfred exclaimed as he frowned. "Why the hell would I do that on purpose?"
"Sarcasm," Arthur explained tersely as he prodded his ankle. He winced, and quickly rolled up his sock and pulled down his pant again. He finally looked up at Alfred, his eyes weary. Calm.
Completely the opposite of the pain he must be going through.
"I-Is it sprained? Or worse?" Alfred asked, his eyes wide with worry.
"It is none of your business," Arthur corrected derisively, shooting him a glare as he tried to stand up. Alfred immediately rushed to his side, but Arthur waved him off.
"Hey, I know that you hate me, but you can at least accept my help when you need it!"
"You should not assume things," Arthur said, giving Alfred a long look before he shooed him away again.
Alfred frowned. So...did that mean that he didn't hate him? Or that he didn't need help?
Arthur hobbled over to the chair in the corner, sighing as he sat down. He fiddled with the CD player a bit before sighing again.
"Is the room getting warm?" he asked, and Alfred frowned.
"Uh...no, but..."
"Oh."
Arthur was sweating a lot now, and his face was flushed.
"Hey, Arthur, I don't think you're okay..."
"Perfectly fine. Now, a waltz, was it?"
"Uh. No."
Alfred strode over to him, his hands on his hips. "I'm gonna get you some ice. Can you tell me where the kitchen is?"
"Over there," Arthur mumbled.
"What?"
Arthur groaned, trying to stand up.
"Yeah, you might wanna show me. I might get lost in this huge house of yours."
"'Course you will," Arthur groaned, and Alfred smiled slightly.
"Yeah, yeah."
He looped Arthur's arm over his shoulder, helping him stand up.
He thought he saw Arthur's face get redder, but he wasn't sure.
"You sure you're okay for this?"
"Perfectly," Arthur said through gritted teeth. He took a step forward, and Alfred matched his pace, following his lead.
"No, stop," Arthur said, strained, and Alfred stopped, frowning.
"H-Hey, if you can't do this, then it's fine -"
"No, you're going to be leading," Arthur said, his voice sounding different than normal. Alfred frowned again, confused.
"What?"
"You're the man," Arthur said irritatedly, looking up at Alfred with pained eyes. "You're going to be leading."
"Uh...what?"
"So lead me," Arthur said, looking forward again.
What on earth was he -
Oh.
Was he talking about the waltz? Why on earth was he talking about dance when he sprained his ankle, or worse?
"Uh..."
It would be hard for Arthur to keep up, though. He started walking again slowly, and he was surprised when he found that Arthur followed him, step for step. Well, step for limp.
"Arthur, you really don't have to -"
"You're going slowly because you know I am in pain. You are trying to make it easier on me. I asked you before, and I will ask you again. What kind of girl is she?"
So that was why he asked about Natalia earlier. So that Alfred could lead in a way that matched her personality. It was a form of consideration that he really hadn't thought dance had.
He stared at Arthur in amazement as they exited the room.
"Left," Arthur said tersely, and Alfred turned left, guiding them down the hall again.
"Cross here. Right."
Alfred obeyed without speaking, and after a couple more turns they arrived in a large room that appeared to be the kitchen.
"Thank you," Arthur murmured as he freed himself from Alfred, limping over to the refrigerator.
"Hey, I got you!" Alfred said quickly as he grabbed a handful of ice and slipped it into a plastic bag. He wrapped it in a napkin and pressed it to Arthur's ankle.
"I can do it," Arthur insisted.
"Jesus Christ, can you please stop being so annoying?"
Alfred's eyes went wide.
Holy shit. Did he really just say that?
"I'm afraid I can't."
Their eyes met.
And suddenly, they were both laughing.
"No, but seriously," Alfred pressed after they both calmed down. Arthur had hobbled over to a chair and was pressing the ice bag over his ankle. He looked up at Alfred when he spoke.
"I was dead serious," Arthur said, his face blank. Or was there a small smile on his face?
"It'd be so much easier if you just let me get it for you."
Arthur turned away then, frowning.
God, he was so stubborn!
Alfred sighed as he placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur looked up, surprised.
"You're tough," Alfred said, grinning. "I like that."
"Oh. I'm glad," Arthur responded sarcastically, but he was still frowning. "Although I disagree with you."
Alfred paused.
"What?"
"Nothing," Arthur sighed, dismissing the subject.
"Uh, so...now that I busted up your ankle, and all..."
Arthur looked up at him again, amusement in his eyes.
"Yes, now that you gave me a good thrashing, I suppose our lessons may not happen after all. Fancy that."
"But you tried to teach me, didn't you? In the hall?"
Arthur grew red again, and Alfred grinned.
Was he embarrassed? Damn. He was kinda cute.
Wait...what?
"I-I did nothing of the sort. Simply a prelude. Hardly worth anything. But if you're so bent on learning, I suppose I can teach you."
Alfred's eyes widened.
"How?"
"Come back in a couple of days," Arthur said, his voice tired again. "Same time."
"What is a 'couple' of days?"
"Do I have to explain everything to you?"
"Yes," Alfred said, grinning. "Twice, please."
Arthur rolled his eyes.
"Stupid American."
"Stubborn Brit."
He thought he saw a small smile flash across Arthur's face, but it disappeared quickly.
"Okay, so like, in three days?"
"All right."
"Wait, you have to tell me -"
"Three days, Alfred. Enough for you to gather your thoughts, slip on actual dancing shoes, and fix that hair of yours."
Alfred leaned back, offended.
"Hey, my hair is just fine -"
"Does your hair defy gravity?" Arthur asked seriously, and Alfred laughed.
"Yeah, just like me!"
"What you said did not make sense."
"That's what they all say."
"How old are you again?"
"Twenty."
"Hmm."
"You?"
"Twenty-three."
"Whoa!" Alfred said exaggeratedly. "So you're, like, an actual adult."
"Was it not apparent?"
He studied Arthur for a moment, and decided that he wasn't too offended. "Uh, I mean, you just looked younger, I guess."
"Disappointed?"
"No. More like impressed," Alfred said, winking, and Arthur immediately looked away.
Well, this was an interesting start.
He was glad that he didn't hate Arthur as much.
He also felt bad for busting up his foot.
...He kinda deserved it, though.
But, as much as he hated to admit it, he was looking forward to his next lesson with the annoyingly stubborn 'gentleman.'