Too Late

Arthur Kirkland was a capable, intelligent man. He mentally kept track of all the tasks he had to do at work with little or no difficulty most of the time, and was the type of student who never had to jot down what homework he had (and still had classmates call him to ask him about various assignments and when they were due). In fact, he rarely forgot anything important (his umbrella or his cellphone, on several occasions however, failed to join him at work - but those weren't that important), never missed a deadline, and prided himself on having his head rather firmly planted on his shoulders (and housing a rather fine brain).

Which was why he was panicking on the way back to his office after his lunch of curry with Alfred.

How in the world did he even forget that he was using Heartstrings?

He didn't forget that he was using the damned program - no, he wasn't that terrible yet - but he most certainly had forgot about the fact that Alfred wasn't just some random pal he had lunch with every now and then when he was bored, but someone he met on an online dating service.

And just how many times have they 'dated' already?

Four?

Of course, the second date was only to pay Alfred back, and the third wasn't really a date - after all, he had not invited Alfred through Heartstrings, and was merely trying to prove a point about British Food and retain some form of cultural pride... And the curry- The curry was... because he had forgotten. Until of course, Alfred had suddenly brought up the matter of Heartstrings in the middle of lunch.

The online dating service.

That he was using.

That he met Alfred through.

Arthur panicked.

In fact, the first thing he did once he reached his company was to call for a pot of tea, and the next thing he did once he was at his desk was to double check his profile on Heartstrings. Nothing in the Preference section of his profile - it was an optional field that Arthur had skipped over in his haste to complete his registration - which meant that, well, at least he was still safe.

Or was he?

Four dates. Four.

But yet Alfred didn't really seem the type. The git was typically American, amongst many other negative nouns he could pull up at the moment, but he most certainly wasn't... queer. Not in that way anyway. Besides, Arthur argued to himself, barely noticing his secretary walk in with a pot of tea and his favourite cup until she put it down on his table (he had jumped, unwillingly, and she backed away apologizing in alarm - she had knocked, just once, and since he asked for the tea she assumed that he was expecting her and didn't wait for him to say come in-), Alfred didn't seem interested in him.

Even if he was a queer - and this was already very rude of Arthur to assume that of Alfred, he thought - most certainly he made no strange advances. He was good company (as much as Arthur despised the thought of ever admitting this in front of Alfred) and, despite all their conversations revolving around proving each other wrong on something or the other, one of the few people that Arthur felt at ease with.

(How alien it was, to admit to something like that, and yet how... Fitting. It wasn't something he could fully grasp, or explain. It was just that whatever Alfred managed to challenge him about, he managed to make Arthur re-think the things in a way which he never thought to before. The git.)

What if Alfred was like him and just wanted a companion to have lunch with? After all, he didn't use Heartstrings to invite him out to lunch today - it had been a text message that Arthur had replied to rather casually without thinking.

He felt the first cup of tea warm his throat, and Arthur gradually found his composure returning, the warmth bleeding calmness throughout. He was worrying for nothing. Everything was fine. Those four 'dates' weren't dates, how silly of him to assume that. They were just lunches with an acquaintance, just like how other normal people had friends they invited to lunch with. It wasn't as if he didn't have friends, mind - there was always that Gilbert Weilschmidt that he went out every now and then to get knocked out with (amongst... Other people... Whom he simply could not name at the moment! That was all.)

He was alright. They were alright.

And Arthur finally calmed down, poured himself a second cup of tea, and turned back to his computer.

His Blackberry buzzed merrily.

Alfred J.: how 'bout trying out a 'decent' date for once? ;) Saturday night dinner and movies?

Coughchokesplutter.

Arthur, for the rest of his life, would deny that he spent a full hour deciding on what to wear on the Not-A-Date. Because that would simply be ridiculous, wouldn't it? Spending an hour (albeit interspersed with attempts to do work/make tea/read a book/sweep the floor) picking out clothes for a Not-A-Date which he would end, he decided, as soon as possible, at the first sign of Alfred thinking that the Not-A-Date was, well, exactly what he termed it to be.

An actual date.

But even if he never spoke of it again, the truth was that he kept coming back to his (relatively small) closet, constantly fingering through his shirts and pants and jackets, muttering to himself unintelligibly. And two changes of clothes (and a pot of tea and a cleanly swept floor and a paragraph of a proposal) later, Arthur finally straightened out his favourite moss-green sweatervest for the last time, grabbed his keys and wallet and closed his door resolutely behind him.

He watched himself, with the slightest sense of dread, lock the door behind him, and let a short huff of air out. What on earth was he so nervous about, anyway, he asked himself for what seemed like the fiftieth time.

People call meet-ups dates all the time! A-And it's probably some of his silly American logic which made him call it that, if it isn't what I think it is. Of course.

Comforted with the notion of the never-understandable American, Arthur happily stepped into the elevator and made his way to the Not-A-Date.

Alfred, Arthur realized, with belated surprise, managed to clean up pretty well when he wanted to.

The first time the two had met, that unfortunate (or perhaps not so?) day in the restaurant, he'd been dressed in fairly standard-issue attire for the district. White dress shirt, black slacks, loosened blue tie, he looked like just about every other businessman on the street.

The second (and third, and fourth) times though, had been markedly different. Each time, Alfred had shown up in remarkably casual dress, worn jeans and plaid shirt over a tee each time. The first time, Arthur had merely raised an eyebrow, and gone on with questioning Alfred on the extremely questionable fillings the burgers seemed to have (chocolate spread and cheese? Really?).

The second time however, Arthur decided to mention.

"Were you having a day off today?" Arthur had asked, as they walked down one of the paths in the park.

"Hmm? Nope? Why'd you ask?" Alfred replied, nonchalant and focused on his melting ice-cream.

"Your choice of dressing. It's-"

Alfred laughed, cutting into his comment. "Dressing? What am I a salad?"

Arthur gave a loud snort, eyeing him. "Hardly, you twat. I meant what you're wearing. Your company lets you come into work like that?"

"Yeah," Alfred grinned, taking another bite of his flake. "No dress code," he mumbled, over a mouthful of ice-cream and chocolate. "And I can't be bothered to wear all of that troublesome stuff," he admitted, wiping at the corner of his mouth.

Arthur, then, had just snorted and tossed a napkin at him. "You can't be bothered to do plenty, as it seems."

But today, today. Arthur eyed Alfred over the candlelight (shit what? Candles? Candlelight? As in, candlelight dinner? W-When the fuck did the candle get here! It certainly wasn't here when we sat down, when on earth did it-), as he pretended to read his menu.

Today, Alfred had seemed to get over himself nicely enough, and the bother which dressing nicely apparently entailed. The nice blue button-down he was wearing brought out his eyes rather nicely (although Arthur would sooner eat another one of those burgers that day rather than admit it), and the dark jeans he had donned for the occasion, a steep contrast to the worn pale blue ones he always seemed to wear was... Quite pleasantly attractive, to say the least.

Alfred looked up right then, and easily caught his eye, grinning.

"Like what you see?" He joked, laughing at Arthur's flushed spluttering, as the other man ducked behind his menu.

"Shut up and pick what you want to fill your bottomless stomach with, Alfred."

Dinner went by unremarkably, or at least as unremarkable as meals went by for the two of them, with a modicum of bickering and debate.

Apart from the awkward moment where Alfred quite strenuously insisted he foot the bill (thankfully, after some rather heated arguments made, and some staring from the other patrons, Alfred was cornered into splitting), everything had went pretty well. Well. That's if you didn't consider the constantly-niggling thought, at the back of Arthur's head which occasionally screamed at him to bloody well set things right now, you coward! About what, Arthur tried not to think of, and instead, focused on what Alfred was saying right then.

"-So... A movie?"

Arthur had nearly done it then, he honestly nearly had. They were right under a lamp post, and the bloody golden light was streaming down on them so nicely Arthur could have cried at how perfectly (disasterously, horrifically, terribly, awkwardly, although part of the tragedy was how un-awkward it seemed to be) scenic it was. The voice at the back of his head had been steadily rising to a hysterical shriek, but as he looked up at Alfred, so bloody hopeful and nervous, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, as if anticipating the put-down Arthur was going to deliver, and it was right on the tip of Arthur's tongue when-

"I was thinking of watching the latest Harry Potter, maybe?" He added.

- When that gave Arthur some pause.

A lot more pause than he'd have wanted, right before a put-down which, as it seemed, was never meant to be.

Arthur gave his dry, wind-chapped lips a quick lick, the silence suddenly very bothersome on his end, as he fell into step beside Alfred.

"So what time's the screening?"

Alfred had settled down rather happily in the seat next to him with a large cup of iced coke and an extra large tub of popcorn, which gave Arthur a chance to further pursue his initial hypothesis of Alfred's overwhelmingly large appetite, and the possibility of a stomach-black-hole in Americans. (Seriously though, after that large a piece of steak?)

For Arthur, it was a much welcomed distraction, and he managed to get through the awkward before-lights-dim phase without worrying too much, and instead falling back into his comfort zone of Insult Volley with Alfred.

By the time they had exhausted each other and their capacity to argue about bottomless stomachs and Why Popcorn After Dinner Doesn't Count ("Separate stomachs man, separate stomachs. This one goes into like, my dessert stomach." "Your what?"), the lights went off and the movie started, and Arthur was beginning to believe that perhaps things wouldn't be all that bad now. Besides, it was a Harry Potter - movies couldn't get any more family-friendly and Not-A-Date worthy than that.

... Or so he thought for the first thirty minutes into the movie.

Because thirty minutes later, distraction set in. Alfred's arm was currently in the process of fighting his arm for space on the armrest between them, pressing rather persistently against his arm. Arthur, out of complete courtesy (and nothing else, he'd swear) shifted discreetly away to give Alfred his much desired arm-room, only to have the side of Alfred's arm give chase and plaster itself to his arm again.

Arthur's eyes were watching the movie, but he really didn't know what Harry was saying anymore, distracted by the problem at hand, literally. Looking down, Alfred's exposed forearm was side-by-side to Arthur's own, tinted by the light of the movie, washing the contrast of Arthur's white shirt to Alfred's tanned skin in watery tones of blues and mottled greens and- And his wrist was periously close now, Arthur was half-startled (and yet, strangely, also half not-so) to note, their pinkies almost-

He threw a very quick sideways glance at Alfred - the git was watching the screen with wide eyes, his right hand shovelling mouthfuls of popcorn into his mouth, his left arm plastered against Arthur's, and he was most definitely not bothered or distracted by the contact (the git. The oblivious git). Arthur discreetly moved his arm a hair's breadth inwards.

Forcing his eyes back to the screen, Arthur tried to concentrate on the movie.

Well, perhaps Alfred simply just wants the bloody armrest. He can have it, then.

Trying to not be too obvious about it (and not completely understanding why he was so considerate about this), Arthur began to further inch his arm - very slowly - off the armrest when there was a sudden, dramatic peak in the music and gone was the side of the arm and instead Arthur was very sure that whatever was firmly pressed against his arm at the moment was more Alfred than anything else.

Completely bewildered and startled, Arthur fully turned to face Alfred, who was currently clutching onto his arm with half his face pressed against his shoulder, both eyes squinted close as he muttered (whined) a chain of 'omigod's.

Slow realization was beginning to dawn, and Arthur was almost reluctant to see it coming, because it was somehow equal parts disappointing and utterly ridiculous all at once.

Oh but he couldn't be-

Arthur tried to turn back to the movie and pretend that there was no Alfred clinging to him, because the git was (out of all things possible) apparently scared of... Sudden movements and loud music and... Whatever that black shadow flickering across the screen was (Arthur had a feeling that they had been death eaters, but how could a grown man be scared of that?) - his brain buzzing at the feeling each time Alfred chose to re-bury his head against his shoulders or give his arm a really hard squeeze. Arthur could feel his arm going numb, but that numbness did nothing to make him forget of exactly who was clinging at his arm right that moment.

In fact, by the time the ending credits rolled in and Alfred finally let out a sigh of relief and released him, Arthur realized that it wasn't just his arm that was feeling out of place, his lower back was beginning to ache slightly because he had apparently stiffened completely and refused to move an inch throughout the entire thing.

Bloody hell, he thought, irritably, rubbing at it.

"T-That was..." Alfred began, as the lights came on, and people started to stand up.

"Utterly terrifying?" Filled in Arthur, as dry as ever.

"YES!' Cried Alfred, much to his disbelief (and amusement), as the other man turned to face Arthur, his face slightly flushed from tearing at the final few scenes, which Arthur pretended wasn't at all endearing, and instead, utterly ridiculous. "Didn't you think so too? I mean man, those death eaters! Their masks!"

Still trying to rub some feeling into his arm, Arthur could feel the corners of his lips upturn slightly at the incomprehensible mix of ridiculousness and amusement which seemed to be his default reaction to his new friend.

"Mhm," he supplied, as the two of them stood up on slightly wobbly legs, as they always tended to be after a long movie (and of not moving for a little over two hours, in Arthur's case).

Having missed a step, Arthur felt himself lurch forward a little, only to be caught by a warm hand on his arm. "Woah there," laughed Alfred, as he gripped Arthur's forearm, still trying to adequately juggle his drink and popcorn in his left hand. Mentally berating himself for startling at every instance of physical contact, Arthur couldn't help but turn back, blinking, to find Alfred grinning back innocently at him. He gave Arthur's arm a quick squeeze before letting go.

"You better watch your step," he smiled, giving Arthur a slight nudge in the back to keep him from holding up the line of people behind them.

Disproportionately embarrassed for holding up the line, Arthur felt the rush of blood to his cheeks as he made his way down the remaining steps as quickly as he possibly could, without tripping. Again.

The end of the Not-A-Date found Arthur and Alfred walking down the street of Arthur's apartment, Arthur half-arguing with Alfred, this time about the merits of Twilight, which Arthur found utterly disturbing.

"But why, Alfred? There are so many other perfectly good romance novels out there, if that's what you're looking for," Arther said, yet again, slightly exasperated.

Alfred couldn't do much but shrug, kicking idly at a piece of gravel on the pavement.

"I dunno, it's different, y'know? And yeah, there are lots of other awesome romance novels and stuff, but Twilight's kinda different. I mean, it's really romantic, isn't it?- Don't say anything, just let me finish alright?" He grinned, putting a hand up to Arthur's face, effectively blocking off the retort.

Arthur himself came to a stop, in front of his apartment block's steps, and Alfred leaned against the stoop's walls, biting his lip in concentration.

"I mean, it's the idea that they have this... This love which can't really be explained, but it's so awesomely strong that it overcome so much shit. It's..." Alfred trailed off, rubbing at the back of his head awkwardly, grinning. "It's pretty much what everyone dreams of right? A love like that."

Arthur, for once, couldn't seem to find any appropriate retort. Alfred seemed to consider it a victory and a case well closed, as he pushed off from the low stone wall, towards Arthur.

And suddenly, so very, horribly belatedly, Arthur realized that with the two of them here, after the candlelit dinner and the movie and Alfred walking him home, they had been on an actual date.

Fuck.

Thoughts were streaming through his mind all too fast, and time wasn't slowing down for anyone, as Alfred smiled again, albeit slightly awkwardly this time.

"So um, good night, Arthur?" It was phrased like a question, Arthur could hear it in the intonation of every syllable, and yet there seemed to be no time whatsoever for answers, as Alfred began to lean in, slowly, yet in the whirring of Arthur's brain it was just way too bloody fast what am I supposed to do I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY I'm not ready for this I didn't even think-

Alfred's lips were an inch away, when Arthur's voice seemed to find itself, alive and kicking and-

"W-WAIT HOLD ON A SECOND I'M NOT GAY."

The awkward silence, with their lips barely an inch apart, Arthur's eyes opened comically wide and a slow, heated flush creeping across Alfred's cheeks almost made him wish his voice had kept up its absence for a second longer.

Authors' notes:
Hello everyone, thank you so much for your continued support and interest in our little project here! We can't tell you enough how much we appreciate every review/favourite/alert heh! We'd like to apolgize for the huge cliffhanger we've just left you, we'll try our best to update by the weekend! Also, neither Hika nor I have watched HP7.2, so uh, we tried our best to gloss over that ahahaha /awkward laugh

Also! We'd really like your opinions on the format of the story from here on! Hika and I have a ton of side-story ideas for the Heartstrings AU we've created, some little moments between our main pairing, some background snippets, as well as a ton of side-pairing stories (Matthew/Francis, Prussia/Hungary etc!). What we'd like to know is if you guys would prefer to see all that in a completely seperately published story, or integrated into this one.

So that's about it! Again, we'd love to hear from you, so please do drop us a review! Hope you're enjoying this as much as we are!