Warning! This story contains nondescript illicit drug use! If this upsets you, please don't read! Other than that, it's really rated G.

So he tried it. Smiling, he bit back the urge to hack up half a lung. This was cool right?

If you would have asked him a month ago what he thought of weed, he would have laughed at you. "That stuff's no good for you, man." With a trademark smile, gleaming teeth and all.

But now?

How could he say no, when the person he'd been trying to impress whole life was offering it to him? He'd have to play it cool, act like he knew what he was doing. So he was filled in on their 'courtesies,' pass from right to left, two hits each, hold it in for a better hit, don't skip turns, don't bite the bit.

Eighteen minutes in to this dance, the second blunt was lit. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. What was his name? He didn't even know. Why were they laughing? Why was it so hot all of the sudden.

For a moment he forgot about the Englishman next to him. For a moment, when he was taking that second hit, he saw his future, the way he imagined it.

It was a brief flash; igniting from the flame of the match he just struck.

It was prom, and graduation. It was college and winter and summer and spring. It was taking him home to meet the family for Thanksgiving and teasing him about his eyebrows. It was a marriage proposal and two classic suits at the altar. It was adopted children and a home, raking fall leaves out of the backyard and saving for college for those adopted children.

It was slipping his old bomber over his shoulders, and getting it back, smelling just like him.

It was silly tickle fights and eating burnt suppers with a smile on his face because he cooked it.

And then they'd fall asleep together, make love, and laugh. Together.

That's all he wanted.

But his turn was over, his hit ended, and he passed it to the seedy guy that he just introduced him to. He blew the smoke out into the cool air, above the rest of the group.

"Al?" His voice called, beckoning him back to reality. His head was swimming with the images of his flash-forward.

"Hey." He replied, heavily tossing his head to look at him, Arthur. He looked like he was glowing. He wanted to touch him, feel his skin. His fingertips felt like paintbrushes, his mind that of Monet, Picasso, Da Vinci. He wanted to memorize every inch of Arthur, paint him over and over again in each of his dreams, be the cause for that rare smile.

"Let's get going." He said, wrapping his fingers over Alfred's leather jacket, gently grabbing ahold of his elbow. "I think you've had enough."

"Where're we goin'?" Alfred exclaimed, after what felt like centuries of trying to interpret Arthur's words.

Silently, he was pulled from the group, out of the seedy person's home, and down to the first floor. He didn't mind it. Arthur's hand had long ago slipped from his elbow to his wrist, and now it was gently creeping further down. He would not mind holding hands.

"You didn't hear what they were talking about doing? That whole time?" Arthur lowly spoke as they walked past Alfred's car, in the direction of the closest train or bus station. "Bloody git! Why are you so thick-skulled!" Arthur let go of Alfred's wrist, turning to face him. "If you were trying to impress me, then just stop!" Arthur rolled his eyes and weakly punched Alfred on the shoulder.

Alfred, while words weren't making the most sense to him, only noticed one thing- Arthur's lack of jacket. He clenched his fists and felt that his own fingers were icy, and he could only imagine how cold Arthur must be.

Shedding his bomber, he swung it, rather nonchalantly, over Arthur's shoulders. Arthur looked to him with expression he couldn't read, and Alfred cut him off before Arthur could make any protest, pressing a quick, impulsive kiss on one cheek.

"It looks good on you." Alfred placed his hands on Arthur's shoulders, looking down, into his eyes. They were clouded and hazy; if he were perfectly sober he might have noticed the small grin on Arthur's face.

"T-thanks for this, Al." Arthur resigned, slipping his arms into the sleeves and turning back in the direction they were walking.

Alfred stood, lingered in his spot before walking to catch up with Arthur. He couldn't help but smile, his jacket looked good on Arthur. It was only a matter of time before their minds cleared of the haze, and they were back to their normal bickering selves. But for now, he'd rather just enjoy the sight of Arthur, and hope that when he gets it back, it smells of him.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this... It's really a lot different from my other stuff.

I have to give credit to my friend, missbunks0613. She came up with the summary when I really had no clue what to write...

Xoxo, OurGloryDays