It was not until the next morning that Arthur realised that his phone was missing. Well, more precisely, it was only when the sun shone in on his face that he realised that the alarm on his phone was not working. Fumbling sleepily under his pillow, a deep sense of dread filled his stomach as he opened his eyes and took a slow glace at the clock on the wall. CRAP! He was late! Peter? Was he late for school as well? Jumping up from his bed, he rushed to the next room, only to see it empty with the bed messily made. Running to the kitchen, he found Peter eating his cereal while reading a book, only to realise that it was Saturday. Heaving a deep sigh of relief, he walked back to his room while Peter looked up from his book and glanced at him weirdly.

"You might want to wear a scarf or something around for the time being," came Peter's voice while Arthur went to take a towel for his shower. "Your night yesterday looked rather eventful."

"And your bed is not made neatly!" Flipping a finger, Arthur slammed the door. Damn that brat. Where was that cute and concerned brother he had yesterday? Looking into the mirror, Arthur realised Peter had a point. The bruises (no, he refused to call them hickeys or love bites) were more prominent, and his lips were still slightly swollen. Turning the tap on, he let the warm water wash himself as he stood under it, deep in thought. Had he forgotten something? What was it…? Yes! His phone! Where was it? Racking his brains, Arthur came to three conclusions. First, he might have left it on the bus on the way to Peter's school. Second, in the office. Third, being the worst possible option, was that it was in the…taxi! Banging his head against the wall, he cursed loudly while his mind involuntarily recollected the scene from the previous night. It was shocking, having not been touched like that by anyone for his entire twenty-three years of existence. Arthur, who staunchly believed that he was very much heterosexual and conservative, found that it was not disgusting at all. It had been…pleasurable. Groaning loudly as he realised he had gotten a reaction simply by thinking about the incident, Arthur switched the water to the cold tap.

"This is nothing. There's nothing to this. It's just a phase, I'm just having a second spurt of puberty, I'm just facing my mid-life crisis earlier, that's all. Maybe someone is just trying to test me. I'll be fine. I'll be fine. I'll be fine," he chanted to himself. The best thing was that his body begged to differ.

"The number you have dialled is currently unavailable. Please try again later."

Slamming the phone receiver down, Arthur got up from the sofa and started pacing around. He had important customer information in his phone. What if somebody picked it up and leaked them? Well, there was the passcode, but for convenience's sake, and the belief that he would never, ever lose his phone, he had set it to "1234". Yes, legit, laugh at him for his stupidity and naivety, but that was the reality to which he deeply regretted now.

"I can send a text to your phone if you want," Peter piped up at the side while flipping through the channels on the television. "Perhaps it ran out of batts."

"Pass me your phone then," Arthur said as he plopped himself beside Peter, muttering under his breath, "It better not be that brat who has it."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," Arthur replied as he took Peter's phone and searched for his own number. What should he type?

Looking at Arthur, Peter sighed loudly and snatched his phone back. "At the speed you are going, your phone would have already been sold to the black market with all the information inside leaked. I'll just text something to see if anybody picked it up. If they reply, it'll mean that your passcode is broken, which I think is highly possible, by the way. Then, you'll just have to call the telco to cancel your phone services."

"And when in the hell were you smarter than me," Arthur mused as he ruffled Peter's hair.

"I've always been the smarter one," came the reply. "See, does this sound casual enough?" Peter had typed: Hey bro, meeting at 12 later? Not really having an opinion, Arthur nodded and watched Peter pressed the send button.

The day went passed with Arthur catching up with the house chores and cooking (disastrously of course) while Peter did his homework and occasionally popped up with questions for him. In a flash, it was already close to evening and there was still no reply.

"There, perhaps there are some people who are really stupid enough to not break your passcode that exist," Peter said as he showed Arthur the blank screen for the umpteenth time.

"It might be that they are considerate enough to not invade other people's privacy," Arthur snapped back, feeling relieved yet a sense of unease crept up slowly at the back of his mind. He had been on the edge the whole day, tensed and waiting for the reply. What if he never recovered his phone? But something gnawed at him, and it was not the possibility of not getting his phone back. It was something more. What if the person replied? Who would it be?

"Perhaps you remembered wrongly. It might be in your office all this while," Peter said sympathetically. "Knowing that memory span of yours, it might just be possible."

"I wish," Arthur muttered under his breath as he glanced at the clock. The dread in his stomach was filling. His intuition told him that it might be with the bespectacled teen. At the thought of it, his stomach did another turn. That night, Arthur was plagued with uncommon dreams. Dreams that were filled with constant licking and sucking, dreams that were filled with the glint from the spectacle frames.

"Oi, there's a reply."

"What?! Give it to me!"

Throwing down the pan into the sink, Arthur dashed into the living room where Peter was at and made a grab for his phone, but was stopped by Peter who refused to surrender it. Instead, he tapped on the message and began reading it aloud.

"Hey there kid, Peter, I presume. As you would know by now, I am not your brother. I happened to pick up his phone and was looking for a chance to return it to him. Could you convey this message to him? Don't worry, I did not go through the contents of his phone. Sorry for the late reply as I had to find a suitable charger to charge his phone. Alfred. There, you have it, this person has your phone," Peter said victoriously. "What should I reply?"

Snatching his phone over, the first thing that Arthur wanted to type was to ask if this Alfred guy was the perverted boy he met on the taxi. However, that would be extremely rude and inappropriate if it was not the boy. Rereading the message, he realised the person from the other line was painfully polite, judging from how he worded his message. Had he mulled over it for a long time? Perhaps it was not that boy?

"Hey, it's mine. Don't grab it like that," Peter whined as he tried to snatch his phone back.

"And I'm the one paying for the bills, mind you," Arthur retorted, but released his hold on the phone.

"At this point, we should play civil and ask him out to meet," Peter said as he began typing.

"You are enjoying this, aren't you?"

"No. Why?" Peter smirked and hit the send button before Arthur could stop him.

"Wait! What did you reply?!" Pressing Peter down onto the sofa, he seized the phone from his flailing arms. Peter had replied: Okay! How about meeting at 1900 tomorrow? He'll confirm the venue again. "When did I agree?!"

"You just did when the message was sent," Peter grinned evilly as he got away from Arthur. "This is for not attending my speech."

"Weren't you perfectly fine with it previously?! I was attacked! Attacked by this strange perv—Strange kid!" Arthur roared, but stopped himself in time. He did not want Peter to know too much of what had happened.

"Attacked? I'm not so sure. But ever since that night, your nights had been eventful. Ooohh, aaahhh, nnngg," Peter cooed as he pursed his lips up for a kiss while gesturing about.

"What the hell! It had only been a night since Friday! And stop those disgusting sounds you are making!" Arthur flushed furiously as Peter continued, before his phone screen lit up again. "Wait! Let me see! What did he reply?"

"He said okay, and recommended a café," Peter said. "Arthur Kirkland, your life is taking a turn. You are finally invited to a café after existing for twenty-three years, albeit sadly not for a date."

Smacking Peter's head with the cushion on the sofa, Arthur looked at the reply and felt the sense of dread returning. In all honesty, it certainly was not his first time to be invited to a café, but the time he did, it was not for anything good. In fact, it was a couple of social workers who initiated a meeting there to talk about Peter's custody rights after their parents left. They had wanted to take Peter away. Of course Peter would not have known of the meeting. All in all, Arthur certainly did not like cafes.

The next day at work, Arthur was early for once. Francis made such a huge ruckus about him being on time and it being a lucky day to buy lottery that it made his already anxious morning worse. Sitting at his desk, he felt a splitting headache coming. Looking at the never-ending pile of work, he sighed and went to the pantry to get himself another cup of tea. He had not slept well the previously night, and he felt like a fool for that. Why in the seven bloody hells would he be nervous? He's a fucking adult for God's sake, not some vulnerable teenager who has no idea how the society runs. Splashing some water onto his face, he returned back to his seat with his cup and inhaled deeply. Yes, he can do it. He'll finish his job, get his phone back, and his life would be normal again. That's the plan.

Sifting through his folders, he found the list of customers whom he had called but all had requested for a follow-up instead. Deciding to start from this list, Arthur downed his tea in one gulp and stretched himself before dialling the numbers. After twenty minutes, he realised these customers were uncontactable. They must have blocked his number the first chance they could. The follow-up call is a lie… Feeling mentally sick and tired, he dialled the last number on the list while rubbing his temples. It got through, and after a few rings, the call was picked up. Eyes snapping open, Arthur grabbed his pen and immediately sat straighter.

"Good morning, this is Arthur calling from Beilshmidt Holdings. Is this Mr. Alfred Jones? I believed I called previously—"

"Who are you looking for?"

"Eh…a Mr. Alfred Jones…?"

"Oh, he's in school. Call this number instead," the voice from the other line said and gave Arthur another number before hanging up, not giving Arthur the chance to thank him.

Looking at the number he scribbled, Arthur yawned and dialled it, listening to the hypnotic rings. Would anybody pick up? Damn, he felt really sleepy… Maybe it's not the right number? Or was the person preoccupied? It's class time now anyway…

"Hello?"

Shocked by the sudden bright voice, Arthur nearly jumped up from his seat.

"Good-good morning!" he spluttered, and chocked on his saliva, resulting in a series of coughs.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Sorry! This is Arthur, calling from Beilshmidt Holdings. I called previously—"

"Arthur…?" There was a slight pause from the other line. "Oh, Beilshmidt Holdings…the magazine?"

"Yes! I believed I called previously but caught you at an…an inconvenient timing, I was wondering if you would be interested in subscribing to the magazines we have—"

"Sorry, I'm a little busy right now. Why don't we meet up to talk instead? You can then bring samples of the magazine to me as well."

"Eh…huh?" Feeling still a bit dazed, Arthur did not really register what the other person was saying.

"I really have to go. We'll meet at the café across the Time Square at 1845? You are Arthur right? Okay, see you. Bye."

The call ended abruptly before Arthur could respond. Was he just…led on? The person certainly did not sound like how he did the first time he called him. He sounded more...mature? Moreover, he sounded hauntingly familiar. The café the boy had said was the same as the Alfred who picked up his phone. What a coincidence! Meeting two Alfreds in one day? Pressing on his temples, Arthur groaned. Damn, his life was so messed up.

However, despite the impending meeting, Arthur managed to finish his work on time. He reached his calling quota and had cleared most of the files on his table. Francis had let him off early, saying he deserved the rest and praised him for his hard work, encouraging him to continue his good work. Arthur mentioned to him the after-office-hours meeting with the prospective customer, and Francis was all nods, telling him it's normal and gave him lots of sample magazines to bring to the meeting.

Lugging his bag, Arthur trudged to his destination. The café was in fact close to his office, and it only took a good fifteen-minute walk to get there. Upon reaching, Arthur took in the sight of the café. It was decorated quite nicely, with a retro theme. The floors however made him uncomfortable though, seeing that it's checkered in the colour of black and white. It made him dizzy. A shop attendant came over to ask if he made a reservation.

"I'm meeting someone. Alfred Jones."

"Oh, this way."

The shop attendant led him towards a rather quiet corner of the café. The customer he was supposed to meet was sitting with his back facing him. He was quite well-built, and had a head of golden hair. Thanking the shop attendant, Arthur hurried over to the table. First rule was to never let the customer wait longer than he should.

"Mr. Jones, I hope you didn't wait for too long? I'm Arthur, Arthur Kirkland from Beil—Why are you here?!"

There, sitting at the table in his full glory was the boy from the taxi.

"Is that how you greet customers? I rather perplexed by this unique greeting," Alfred Jones smiled as he stood up. "Nice to meet you, Arthur Kirkland. I am Alfred Jones."

A/N: Dun dun dun. I would vote Peter as the wingman of the year though.