First impressions can be very misleading. Alfred, when he first met Arthur Kirkland, thought he was professional, shy and quiet.

It only took Alfred three days to figure out he was terribly, horribly mistaken. But now he was a full month into working with Arthur. He'd stopped calling him "CP Kirkland" and instead branded him "Artie." The flight attendants were used to the occasional fight on their way to a hotel or a restaurant. They tried to keep it down in the cockpit, for the sake of the passengers, though.

Alfred F. Jones had never had a better co-pilot, and every late night, crowded line, and shabby hotel where he was with Arthur was a great one. In just a short month Alfred learned enough information about Arthur to write a biography. He loved listening to his accent, his rants, and especially his past.

"God, I'm tired as hell," Arthur said, dragging his suitcase after him as he followed Alfred into the airport. Alfred nodded in fatigued agreement. "What country are we in, again? And where's the rest of the crew?"

Arthur rolled his tired eyes. "Do you ever listen? They told us they were going to meet some old crew members at a restaurant. You said you'd stay with me. And we're in Sweden, for the last time."

Alfred blinked, but continued walking. No wonder everyone was wearing such thick clothing. It was barely Spring. Great, Alfred hated the cold. The airport was small and smelled of old snow. They worked their way through the minimal crowds, and eventually arrived outside. It was dark, closer to morning than night, and absolutely freezing. Patches or snow greeted Alfred as he stepped out of the building. He gave a girlish squeal. So much for being tired. "Artie, it's freezing!"

The Co-pilot rolled his eyes for what must have been the billionth time that day, and pulled a scarf out of his suitcase. He wrapped it around his own neck. "Well, what would you like me to do about it? I can't control the weather."

Alfred muttered something under his breath about how he was surprised Arthur admitted that he couldn't tame anything. Arthur yelled at him, and they continued fighting until Alfred realized they had missed three possible cabs and his toes were beginning to go numb.

They hailed a taxi, clambered in, and enjoyed the short defrosting period as they rode into town. It was busy in the tourist district, but Alfred and Arthur were both experienced enough to know that one should never stay where the tourists do if you want some place cheap. They told the cab driver in as clear English as they could manage (and a few broken Swedish words on Arthur's part) to drive them somewhere local. He obliged, and soon the foreign blondes found themselves standing outside of a motel-type of building. They were too tired to care exactly where they slept at this point. They paid their driver, caught a room, and trudged up the stairs.

If Alfred had been any more lively, he would have noticed Arthur's strange mood change. He got quiet, and his blush wasn't from the cold anymore. Had it been a normal day, Alfred would have realized that this was the first time he had shared a room alone with Arthur. But it wasn't, and he didn't. Instead he flopped onto the creaking bed that smelled like moss and fell asleep.

You see, Arthur Kirkland had a secret. He liked Alfred. Not anything major—it would probably disappear if he ignored it enough. But he felt a fondness for the man who was so excited to fly and to talk to him. He loved seeing that (handsome) face every time he came into work. But most of all, Alfred just made him happy.

Arthur gently removed the cap from Alfred's snoring head.

"Dear god," he muttered, "if you were gay, I'd kiss you right here."

No, Alfred is actually asleep. Don't get your hopes up.

Last chapter next time!

Sorry for any mistakes, I'm American! (Critique is welcome)

-Mallory