Author's note: This will probably be another short one, maybe two or three chapters long. Yes, I'm still working on my other story. I just missed writing stuff like this. :)
Edit: This fic has been translated into Chinese! Link in my profile.
Chapter 1
One summer, Arthur moved. He had already lived in the United States for a few years, and he was tired of the hustle and bustle of city life. He bought a house in a nice, quiet, suburban neighborhood where the streets were lined with elm trees, and settled himself a job as an English professor at a nearby university. He had the whole summer to move in before school started, and he decided to enjoy it.
The house was a small one-story with neat, small, matching front and back yards. The garden was Arthur's first priority. He cleared out a bed around the front lawn and planted rose bushes. He filled the beds beneath the front and back windows with all kinds of flowers and bushes. Every morning, at 8 o'clock sharp, he would go outside and water his garden.
About a week after he moved in, he was watering the front yard when he spotted a man he had never met before jogging up the sidewalk. He was blond and wearing a simple outfit of a tank top and loose shorts. The white wire of his earbuds swung back and forth gently in tune with his movements. Arthur looked him over carefully. He had yet to meet any of his neighbors, and he was hopeful about meeting someone who was nice. As the man got closer, Arthur could see that he was young and wore glasses. He was also quite handsome. Arthur smiled a little and focused on watering his rose bushes. Probably far too young for you, Arthur old boy. The man jogged past, and, for the most part, Arthur forgot about him.
A few days later, Arthur saw the man again. Arthur watched curiously as he approached. The man must have noticed him watching, because this time he raised his head and smiled. Arthur blinked and then smiled back in a friendly sort of way. He didn't expect the man to slow down to a walk, pull an earbud out of one ear, and say, "Good morning."
"Good morning," Arthur replied. He was so surprised he forgot to move onto the next plant and nearly drowned one of his rose bushes.
The man walked right up to Arthur's white picket fence and stuck out a hand with a grin. "I'm Alfred Jones. You just moved in, right?"
"Erm, yes," Arthur answered as he hastily switched the hose to his other hand. He took Alfred's hand; the handshake was firm and warm. "I'm Arthur."
"Nice to meet you." Alfred had blue eyes and very white teeth. "Sorry I didn't come over and introduce myself earlier. I wasn't sure if you'd moved in yet."
"It's perfectly alright," Arthur said.
"I see you planted some roses."
"Yes, I did," Arthur replied.
"It looks nice." Alfred smiled and put the earbud back in his ear. "Catch you later." He jogged off.
Alfred, Arthur thought. A nice name. He eyed Alfred's retreating form. Probably in university, actually. I hope he's not going to be one of my students this year. He moved on to the next rose. That would be awkward.
As Arthur settled more firmly into a day-to-day schedule, he discovered that Alfred ran every morning. They developed a routine; Alfred would look up, smile, and wave, and Arthur would smile and wave back. Alfred had to have been running a loop of the neighborhood, because Arthur never saw him on his way back.
Sometime in late July, Arthur's cat climbed up the large elm tree in front of Arthur's yard and decided it couldn't get down. It was a quiet, calm morning except for the piercing yowl of the distressed cat. "England!" Arthur hissed from the base of the tree. "Get down here this instant!" The cat paced anxiously once up and down the branch it was stuck on. It yowled again. A car drove past and Arthur flushed a little at how silly he must look. He crossed his arms against his chest and glared at his cat. "If you got yourself up there, you can get yourself down again." The cat merely yowled more loudly in response.
Five minutes later, Arthur had fished his step-stool out of the garage and was vainly trying to convince his cat to jump down into his arms. He was so focused on his task, he didn't notice the man jogging up to him until he said, "Hey Artie, what's the trouble?"
Arthur nearly fell off of the step-stool. He hastily steadied himself against the trunk of the tree and looked down. "Good afternoon, Alfred," he managed to say relatively normally.
"Cat stuck in a tree?" Alfred was smiling up at him. He was wearing an old t-shirt with some brand name printed on it and his running shorts. The earbuds were present, as always, though only one of them dangled out of his ear.
Arthur hastily got down from the step-stool and dusted himself off. "Erm, yes," he said awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I hope he wasn't disturbing you."
"Nah, I actually couldn't hear him until just now. You want some help?"
"No, really, I wouldn't want to trouble you," Arthur said too hastily.
"Sorry, I should have said, you look like you need some help." Alfred grinned and tilted his head in a way that Arthur found only too charming.
"Oh," Arthur said, and flushed a little. The cat yowled. Arthur's head snapped back up to it. "Oh, shut up, England," he said irritably.
Alfred laughed. "You named your cat England?"
Arthur turned a little pinker than he had been already. "So what if I did?"
"It's cute," Alfred said with a grin. "Anyway, I can probably get him down for you." And with that, Alfred easily climbed up the step-stool and into the tree. He shimmied up one of the main branches and quickly worked his way towards the cat.
"Oh, really," Arthur started, but Alfred was already up so high it wasn't worth protesting. "Be careful," he added anxiously as Alfred scooted farther out on the limb the cat was stranded on.
"Come here, kitty kitty," Alfred said in a cooing voice. The cat eyed him suspiciously and gave a tentative yowl. Alfred reached out a hand. "Come here, England. That's your name, right? I'm sure old Artie down there wants you home safe and sound." Arthur bristled a little at the comment (I'm not "old"), but any protest died on his lips as England began to slowly walk towards Alfred. Alfred wiggled his fingers invitingly and England . . . nuzzled them? Alfred easily scooped the cat up under one arm and worked his way back down the tree.
When he got close to the ground, the cat gave one meow of warning before it wiggled out of Alfred's grasp and leapt onto the sidewalk. It trotted a few feet away, sat down, and began cleaning its fur as if it hadn't been doing anything else.
Alfred grinned. "Cats, huh? They're so weird." He dusted himself off and pulled a few leaves out of his hair.
"Thank you very much," Arthur said gratefully. "Can I . . . get you some tea or something to thank you? I really appreciate you going to the trouble–"
Alfred chuckled a little and waved him away. "It really wasn't that big a deal."
"Please, come in and have some scones and tea with me," Arthur pleaded. "It's the least I can do."
Alfred brightened at that. "Scones?"
Arthur smiled, relieved that he had found some way to repay this almost-stranger. "Yes. I just made them yesterday."
Alfred's smile widened even further. "You cook? That's so cool!"
Arthur blushed a little. "Really, I'm not that good."
"Aw, don't be modest, Artie! I'm sure you're a great cook." Alfred patted him supportively on the back. Arthur winced a little; Alfred was stronger than he looked.
"Come in, then," Arthur said, and they walked up the small path to his door. He opened the door and Alfred stepped into his home.
"Wow," Alfred said excitedly. "Everything's so neat. If I'd only moved in here a month ago, my house would still be a mess. It takes me forever to unpack." Alfred laughed.
"Oh, I'm not done unpacking yet," Arthur said. "There are still some boxes in the garage. I keep meaning to get to them, but it always seems like there are other things to do." He walked farther into the house and Alfred followed him into the kitchen.
Arthur indicated that Alfred should have a seat at his kitchen table, and then he went about setting the kettle boiling and putting some scones on a plate. "What kind of tea would you like?" he asked.
"Do you have coffee?"
"No. Is that alright?" He looked Alfred, his brow creasing with concern.
Alfred grinned back and actually chuckled a little. Strangely, he seemed to be looking at Arthur's forehead. "Nah, it's fine. Can I just have a glass of water?"
Arthur nodded and filled up a glass for him. The kettle dinged and he poured himself a cup of tea. He brought the plate of scones over and sat down while he waited for the tea to steep.
"So, have you met a lot of your neighbors?" Alfred asked as he reached for one of the scones.
"Not really," Arthur said vaguely. To be honest, Alfred was the most human contact he'd had since moving here besides the person behind the register at the grocery store.
"How many besides me?" Alfred asked around a mouthful of scone.
" . . . None."
"What?" Alfred exclaimed, spewing crumbs everywhere. Arthur grimaced and wiped his face with his arm. "No way! Didn't people come over and introduce themselves to you?"
"No?" Arthur said uncertainly. He carefully strained his tea and set it aside. He picked up the pitcher of milk and poured a bit in. He touched the sides of the cup; still too hot to drink.
"But why not? They can't all be on vacation. It's their duty to introduce themselves to you! They should make you feel welcome." Alfred looked so concerned, Arthur almost laughed.
"Well, I can't blame them. I haven't exactly gone over and introduced myself. Chances are they don't even know I've moved in."
Alfred frowned. The scone lay forgotten on his plate. "But you're so nice. They should want to meet you."
Normally Arthur would have pointed out that this was not exactly logical, since they would still have to know him in the first place to realize that, but the compliment sidetracked him. Alfred thought he was . . . nice?
"We should go over there right now and introduce you," Alfred continued, and actually began to stand up.
"What? Of course not," Arthur said quickly. "I wouldn't want to bother them."
"Then bring some them scones! Everyone loves food." Alfred really did stand up now. He walked over to the counter and started rummaging through Arthur's cupboards.
"What – what are you doing?" Arthur asked, alarmed. He stood too.
"Do you have some paper plates or something?" Alfred asked.
"Um, no, don't think so – why?"
"That's fine. We'll just use these." He showed Arthur a plate matching the one on the table – his second-best china! Before Arthur could protest, Alfred was dividing the scones among the two plates. "We'll just do the houses on either side of you first. You seem kind of uncertain about it. I don't want to overwhelm you." Alfred flashed him a grin. "Don't worry. I'll come with you."
"What–" Arthur started, but Alfred had already shoved a plate in his hands and was pushing him out the door. "Why are you doing this?" Arthur finally managed.
"You aren't going to make friends if you don't go out and meet them," Alfred said. "As your first friend here, it's my duty to help you, isn't it?" He grinned, and it took Arthur a moment to process what he had just said. He and Alfred were friends?
With a lot of talking from Alfred and a muttered, "Hello, pleasure to meet you," from Arthur, they managed to meet both of Arthur's immediate neighbors. On his right lived a Chinese man with very pretty hair, and on his left lived a pair of men with pale blond hair. One of them was very tall, scary, wore glasses, and didn't speak much; the other one was quite happy and particularly overjoyed to meet them. Arthur wasn't sure, but he thought that the taller one might have called the other one "W'fe." It was all very confusing.
When they returned to Arthur's house, he had significantly less scones in his possession and he was feeling somewhat emotionally drained. He was not, in general, a very social person. Those who didn't know him well didn't understand why he was a professor, if people bothered him so much; those who did know him well understood perfectly. Working with people who had at least some kind of respect for you and listened to what you had to say was completely different from meeting people who probably didn't care about you or what you had to say, and never would.
"See?" Alfred said when they were safely back inside. "That wasn't too bad, was it?"
"No, I suppose not," Arthur said with a little sigh. He slumped into his chair and picked up his teacup. He sipped at his tea; it wasn't exactly cold, but it was now only lukewarm.
"Now you know them well enough to say hi when you see them, right?" Alfred said with an encouraging smile.
Arthur couldn't help but smile a little in return. "Yes, you're right. Thank you, Alfred."
"Just being the hero I am," Alfred said with a grin. "Oh, speaking of, I haven't given you my number yet, have I?" He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and typed something into it. He looked up at Arthur expectantly. "What's yours?"
Dazed, Arthur rattled off his home phone. "Here, let me get a piece of paper," he muttered, and started sorting through the scraps of paper on the counter by the telephone.
"You can just give me yours," Alfred said helpfully.
Arthur paused and stared at him. It took him a moment to figure out what he must mean. "Oh," he said. "I, um, don't have a cell phone." He blushed a little and returned to his search for something to write Alfred's number on.
"Really? Why not?"
"I just never found I needed one," Arthur replied. He returned to Alfred with a sticky note and a pen, which he handed to him.
"Oh, okay," Alfred said, and bent over the sticky note. He wrote for a long longer than Arthur thought was strictly necessary, but he didn't say anything and eventually handed over the note. "Well, I'd best be going. Thanks for the scone," he said with a smile.
"Right," Arthur said, and they both stood. "My pleasure." He walked Alfred to the door and watched as he put the earbuds back in his ears.
"See you around," Alfred said with a grin, and jogged away down the path.
Arthur closed the door and looked at the sticky note in his hand. There was a number written on it, and accompanying the number was a little message. Artie, it said, If you ever need anything, give me a call. A cup of coffee, someone to talk to, someone to rescue your cat, whatever. And P.S.: You're seriously not a bad cook. – Alfred
Arthur taped it to the wall above his telephone. It was probably, he decided, the nicest thing anyone had ever given to him.
In early August, the weather took a turn for the worse. Clouds started building up in the sky, and they didn't look friendly. Arthur watched them warily as he watered his garden. Summer thunderstorms were his least favorite kind of weather. The rain didn't come that day, or the next. The day after that, Arthur was tense enough to rival the electricity in the air: He had a meeting with the president of the university that afternoon, and it would be the first time they had met face to face.
Alfred jogged past that morning, as usual. He waved and smiled at Arthur. Arthur waved back automatically, but he was too tense to give him anything resembling an honest smile. Alfred noticed. A look of concern crossed his face. He stopped, pulled an earbud out of his ear, and walked over to Arthur. He put his arms on his white picket fence and leaned against it. "Hey, Artie. What's up?"
"Nothing more than usual," Arthur said. He glanced automatically up at the sky. For once, though, Alfred didn't tease him about it.
"You seem kinda tense," Alfred said. "Are you sure nothing's wrong?"
"Wrong? No . . ." Arthur said slowly. He looked down at the rosebush he was watering. "I have an interview later today," he said finally. "I already have the job, but this will be the first time I see them face to face. I have to give a presentation, and if they fire me . . ." His voice trailed away into nothing.
"They can't fire you based on just some interview," Alfred said firmly. "If they already hired you, what's the trouble?"
Arthur hunched his shoulders. "I'm a professor, so I'm going to be doing research on the side," he said quietly. "I have to give them regular updates on how my research is doing. If they don't think what I'm doing is interesting enough, they can reduce my funding."
"Aw, no way," Alfred said comfortingly. "They wouldn't do that. I'm sure whatever you're researching is super interesting anyway. If they're paying you in the first place, they want you to succeed, right?"
"I suppose so," Arthur mumbled.
"What are you researching?"
"I'm not going to tell you," Arthur said firmly. "You'll think it's boring. Actually, you won't even know what it is."
Alfred raised a challenging eyebrow. "Try me."
"No."
Alfred set his mouth in a mulish way. "Come on."
"English literature and religious influences during the Restoration in England," Arthur said sharply. He frowned up at Alfred. "Now, don't you have some running to be doing?"
Alfred looked hurt. "Fine," he said. "Good luck." He put the earbud back in his ear and jogged away.
Arthur immediately felt guilty for snapping, but he stood by what he said. He was already presenting his research subject to the president and the head of the English department, who at least might understand what he was getting at. He really didn't need some kid telling him that he was boring. He already knew that.
Arthur spent the rest of his morning nervously drinking tea and cleaning his kitchen. When it was finally time for his meeting, he got together his things, put on a suit and tie (without bothering to try to comb his hair; he had given up on that long ago), and went to his car. He had barely turned out of the street before the rain began pouring down in sheets. He was almost late to the meeting because the visibility was so poor, and when he got to the school, he had to walk over what felt like miles of uncovered ground to get to the proper building. By the time he entered the meeting, the thunder had started and he was drenched.
The meeting was tense. Two pairs of eyes drilled into Arthur while he stumbled over his presentation. "English literature and religious influences during the age of the Restoration" was not exactly the most exhilarating topic, and the expressions he got from his audience were almost entirely blank stares. The meeting went much later than he had planned. By the time he drove home, the clouds made it feel like dusk and the rain was worse than it had been on the way up. Several streets were flooded, and he had to go around the back way to enter his neighborhood. He parked his car in front of his house because he had stupidly, stupidly started piling boxes in his garage, so he got soaked all over again on his way to the front door. He could never before remember being so happy to be home.
He peeled off his soaking wet jacket, his probably ruined shoes, and his socks, and uncharacteristically dumped them by the door. He started the kettle boiling for tea and leaned against the counter while he waited. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cupboard. Please, just let me relax, he thought. A nice cup of tea. That's all I ask. The kettle clicked off and he poured it into his cup. The tea started to steep and he smiled. Everything was going to be okay.
He opened the fridge to get out the milk. His hand met empty air. He frowned and looked through his entire fridge. Twice. He was out of milk. Then he remembered: He had been planning on going by the store on his way back from the meeting, to get . . . milk. Arthur bit his lip. He couldn't believe that he felt close to tears. It was just milk. He could drink tea without milk. Some people did.
Arthur swore and slammed his fridge door closed. He wiped his eyes hastily on his already soaked sleeve and started to pace his kitchen. "Okay," he mumbled to himself. "You're going to go to the store and get some milk. That's all." He picked his keys back up, threw back on his soaking socks and shoes and jacket, and went out the door.
The rain was coming down in buckets. He wrapped his arms around himself and tried to ignore it. He reached his car, unlocked the door, and slid inside. He put the key in the ignition and turned it. His car made a horrible screeching, grinding noise, and died. Arthur tried again, and again, but nothing happened. He got out, slammed the door, and opened the bonnet. He stared at the contents for a moment, and then burst into tears.
Alfred found him a minute later kicking the side of his car repeatedly, sobbing. Alfred pushed back the hood of his jacket and blinked at Arthur through the rain that was quickly covering his glasses. "Whoa, Arthur, I saw you'd gotten home and thought I'd see if you wanted to eat some scones together or something – what's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" Arthur screamed, emphasizing it with a kick to the rear tire this time. "My meeting went horribly, I'm hungry, I'm cold, I'm wet, I'm tired, and I just want some tea. I have no milk, my car won't start, and I know absolutely nothing – nothing! – about how cars work."
Arthur felt an arm wrap around his waist and for some reason, he stopped kicked his car. "Artie," said Alfred's warm voice in his ear, "I can't understand a word you're saying, but it looks like you need to sit down someplace warm, okay?" Alfred began to tow Arthur back up the walkway to his house.
Arthur pushed back against him weakly. "No, I need milk."
"Okay, go sit down inside and I will get you milk."
"No, you won't, because . . . because . . ." Arthur could not think of a single reason why he was saying no that to that offer. He frowned up at Alfred. "Wait, you'd get milk for me?"
Alfred grinned down at him. His fringe was dripping water and his glasses were fogged. "Of course I would. I'm a hero." They had reached the doorstep. "Go dry off and I'll be back in a minute. Do you need anything else besides milk?"
"Some Earl Grey tea would be nice," Arthur blurted out. He knew he was running low, and he couldn't remember anything else from his shopping list.
"Earl Grey, got it. Be right back." Alfred patted him on the head and ran back out into the rain. Arthur watched him disappear down the sidewalk before he opened the front door and went inside. He closed it behind him automatically and didn't bother to lock it. He took his shoes and jacket off all over again, and then he dragged himself off to the bathroom to clean up. As he did so, he found his head being filled with one thought: What did I do to deserve someone as kind as Alfred?
A long, hot shower and a dry set of clothes later, Arthur was sitting at his small kitchen table and feeling much calmer. He had set out a plate of scones while he waited, as per Alfred's implied request. Since then, he had been replaying what had just happened in his head. Whenever he thought of how he had acted, his ears turned a bit pink. His hands clenched in his lap. Of course Alfred now thinks you're some pitiful old man who can't experience a single rainstorm without having a mental breakdown, he thought dismally. There goes any possibility that he thinks highly of you.
The door suddenly swung open and a dripping Alfred stepped into the tiled entrance way. "Hey, Arthur," Alfred said happily. He had a large paper grocery bag under one arm (or at least, it had once been paper; it was now quickly disintegrating into something else). He slammed the door shut and walked over to the kitchen, trailing water as he went.
Arthur sprang to his feet. "Oh, you're soaking – I'll get you a towel."
"Thanks," Alfred said gratefully.
When Arthur came back with a towel in hand, Alfred had dumped the contents of the grocery bag onto the counter. There was indeed a carton of milk, in addition to four boxes of tea, a bottle of honey, and a box of sugar cubes. "What's all this?" Arthur asked distractedly as Alfred took the towel and began to dry his hair.
"Oh, yeah. They had like a ton of different brands of Earl Grey, so I got a whole bunch just to be safe, and the lady I asked said that sometimes you drink tea with honey and sugar? So I got some of those, too." He paused in drying his hair and pointed at the box. "I got sugar cubes, see. Because you're English."
Arthur was about to ask what that had to do with anything, but Alfred sounded so proud of himself, Arthur didn't want to hurt his feelings. He quickly changed his question. "Thank you," he said gratefully. He picked up the nearest box of teabags and opened it. "Would you like something to drink?"
Alfred slouched into a chair and put on his now dry glasses. He made a little humming noise. "No thanks. I'm not a big tea guy."
"Oh, right." Arthur blushed a little and busied himself preparing his own cup of tea. While the water boiled (again), he sat down across from Alfred. "Er," he said, and his eyes darted away from Alfred. Alfred looked at him curiously. "I just wanted to say, sorry for how I acted earlier. I was being 'stupid,' as you would say. And thanks again for this. I really appreciate it."
"Of course! It's really no problem. I'm the hero, right? I have to save the day." Alfred grinned. "And about earlier? It was no trouble. I get it. I wouldn't want to talk about my super awesome research project either if I was about to give a really stressful presentation on it." Alfred grinned, and Arthur couldn't help but smile back a little at him.
"I'm not usually this emotional, either," Arthur added apologetically. "I promise I'm usually perfectly sane."
Alfred laughed. "Hey, I understand how it can be when your day sucks. Don't worry about it."
The water finished boiling and Arthur went to go tend to his tea. There was a comfortable silence as he waited for the tea to steep. He opened the milk, poured a little in, and sat down at the table across from Alfred. He sipped at the tea and hummed a little: Just how he liked it.
Alfred was fiddling with his still-wet jeans. Arthur realized quite suddenly that he had never seen Alfred in casual clothes before. He was wearing a hoodie, dark blue jeans, and Converse. The Converse were very patriotic: Not only were they red, white, and blue, but they had stars and stripes all over them. It was very Alfred, Arthur decided.
"So, I was thinking," Alfred said without looking up. "Maybe we could go to a movie or something? Like, sometime next week. If you're free."
"A movie?" Arthur asked in surprise. "I don't really go out to movies."
"Oh." Alfred looked at him side-long. "I see."
There was a moment of silence while Arthur tried to figure out if he had said something wrong. Eventually, Alfred stood up. "Thanks for the scones," he said, though he hadn't touched them. "I should be going. Even if your meeting didn't go awesome, they didn't eat you alive, right?" He smiled at Arthur, but it was lacking its usual shine. "See ya later."
"Goodbye," Arthur replied. He walked Alfred to the door and watched him disappear into the rain. A brief thought hit him that he should have suggested they do something other than go see a movie, but he supposed it was too late now. "Oh well," he muttered as he closed the door and his cat twined itself between his feet. "Alfred will say something again later if he wants to, won't he, England?" He picked up his cat and held it to his chest. For some reason, he felt strangely lonely.
