Still grinning, Alfred shifted in his chair and stretched his arms out over his head, leaning back a little; he knew full well that his shirt would complement the body beneath it. It didn't escape his notice that Arthur's eyes slowly lifted to look him up and down or how the Brit swallowed as if trying to come up with something to say or like he was trying to hold something back—mission accomplished. The American let out a contented sigh and relaxed.

"All right, your turn. What were you doing in that pub last night, all by yourself?" His eyes rested on the Brit's face as he methodically pulled on the fingers of his gloves to remove them then tucked them into his jacket pocket.

Ah, not a question he particularly wanted to answer. Arthur tore his gaze from that handsome face, shoving back the thoughts that had invaded his mind after watching the tourist stretch. "Having a drink. What did it look like I was doing?" he asked as casually as he could, his head tilting to one side just slightly as his eyes locked onto the white tablecloth.

"Well, you looked kinda lonely."

Brilliant. He'd caught the American's eye because he looked like a lonely drunk sitting in a pub on a Friday night who could use some company. No wonder the tall blond had come to talk to him. "I wasn't lonely. I simply enjoy the peaceful quiet of having a drink on my own once in a while."

Alfred shrugged, his easy grin unfaltering. "My mistake, then. I'm glad I decided to talk to you, anyway."

"You mean hit on me," Arthur corrected, giving the taller man a knowing look. To his delight, an embarrassed smile replaced the taller man's confident expression.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I really didn't mean to come off as rude."

Arthur returned the smile before looking down at the table again, fidgeting. "And I didn't mean to come off sounding like a stuffy old git."

"No, no, you were right to be offended. I crossed a line and I'm glad you decided to give me a second chance, anyway," Alfred assured him, leaning forward to reach across the table and place his hand over Arthur's. Immediately, Arthur felt himself growing warmer and he couldn't resist the urge to look at the tanned, rough-palmed hand that was suddenly holding his own.

He's holding my hand again. Why is he holding my hand?

It made him nervous and he felt too warm but at the same time he couldn't help but feel relaxed and comforted by the gesture, as if this blue-eyed man was literally making him feel better about their interactions the night before. But that, of course, was impossible. He probably only felt that way because the American's hand was warm and large enough to nearly cover his own hand, which was obviously more delicate and significantly paler than the tourist's. That, and Alfred's palm was calloused but not in an abrasive way so his grip felt strong and firm. Arthur had the irrational feeling that this man could handle just about anything and never lose that move star grin.

Swallowing thickly, the Brit forced his eyes away from their still-touching hands and looked Alfred in the eyes. He nearly swooned on the spot to find those eyes staring at him so intently, the clearest blue he'd ever seen. Part of him wanted to hide from the American's gaze, felt exposed and vulnerable as if the man possessed the ability to see right through him. Another part brought an instinctive blush to his face and he smiled nervously though he couldn't bring himself to look away. The rest of him, well, the rest of him wanted to lean forward like Alfred was and kiss him right there. It was the same impulsive feeling that had caused him to kiss the American in the pub last night, but he ignored it to the best of his ability now. They were sitting in a tea shop on a rare sunny afternoon, after all, not a dim pub on a Friday night.

"Do it."

The words barely registered in Arthur's mind and he blinked slowly, still frozen. "What?"

"I can tell you want to, Artie. I want you to, too. You can do it. It won't hurt anything," Alfred promised, his voice low and soft, soothing, making Arthur feel like absolutely nothing could be wrong with the world in that moment.

"I don't…" the Briton began, but his voice faded out before he could finish telling Alfred that he didn't know what the bespectacled man was talking about. He barely registered the fact that he was leaning forward just a little and slowly moving closer, his hand moving so that his fingers were laced through the taller man's. Alfred smiled, blue eyes unchanging as Arthur got closer and closer until the green-eyed man was on the edge of his seat and leaning over the table. They were less than an inch away now, able to feel each other's breath as they stared.

"Alfred." The name came out on a sigh and Arthur's hand tightened slightly. The American smiled a little more.

"Kiss me," he whispered beseechingly, and then Arthur leaned forward until the gap that had existed between them was gone. Neither man missed its presence as they became completely absorbed in the kiss and each other. Green eyes fell shut and were shortly followed by blue as the simple act of lips touching turned into more than that, turned into lips moving together and breaths mingling as tongues that were too shy to investigate further than little tastes danced against lips. Their hands gripped each other tightly out of the desperation to be closer to each other, trying to make up for the fact that there was a table in the way.

It was mind-numbing and Arthur didn't know what he was doing, didn't know when he'd decided to kiss the American like this in public but knew that it was the only thing he wanted. And yet it wasn't enough somehow because of that damn table being in the way and he just wanted to be closer, wanted to lose himself in those blue eyes and that charming smile and those strong hands and the perfect body that shouldn't have existed but did. He wanted to lose himself in everything that was Alfred.

Need more, his mind whispered, and he was mere seconds away from letting out a pitiful sounding whine when someone cleared their throat in an obviously irritated fashion. The sound broke through the haze his mind had so quickly become lost in and he jerked, sitting back in his chair as his eyes went wide. He was panting lightly, face flushed as he stared at Alfred in shock. Also out of breath, the American stared back at him with an expression that was confused and apologetic but also wanting in a way that made Arthur feel extremely self-conscious. What the bloody hell had he been thinking, kissing the man like that in a tea shop?

"If the two of you are quite finished," someone spoke up, and both men turned to see a waitress standing by their table, a notepad in one hand while the other rested on her hip. She was giving them a look of strong disapproval and seemed like she wanted to ask them to leave but was holding back.

"I'm very sorry," Arthur spoke up first, offering the woman an embarrassed smile. "That was rude of us. It won't happen again."

She didn't look like she believed him, but after a moment she sighed. "See that it won't, please. Now, what can I get for you gentlemen today?"

Relief flooded him and Arthur relaxed in his chair. "Black tea with milk and one spoon of sugar, please."

"Coffee, black," Alfred told her once she'd written down Arthur's order and turned to the American.

"I'll have those for you in just a moment." Then she turned and walked away towards the kitchen. Arthur watched her go, his eyes glued to her back in order to keep himself from looking at Alfred, from seeing those damn eyes and that blasted smile. What was it about this man, this bloody tourist that had him acting like the complete opposite of himself?

"Arthur."

"Shut it."

"What?"

Turning, Arthur scowled at the man sitting across from him, his arms folded over his chest. "I don't want to hear it, Alfred. Whatever excuse you've conjured up for doing that in broad daylight and in public, I don't care. Let's just enjoy our drinks and leave before we get thrown out, all right?"

Alfred was quiet for a moment as he regarded the Brit. Then he nodded and looked out the window, leaning back in his chair with his hands in his lap. He looked upset and a little guilty, which Arthur thought was entirely the way it should be.

What was he thinking, kissing me like that? We're in public, for Christ's sake! And we barely know each other!

He didn't think about the fact that he'd wanted to kiss the American just as badly as Alfred had said, and he certainly didn't want to try to figure out how Alfred had known what he was thinking. It didn't matter, anyway. All that mattered was that he'd somehow ended up practically snogging someone who was barely more than a stranger, in a tea shop on a Saturday afternoon. Even worse, he'd been caught by a waitress and could have been thrown out of the shop for it.

Well…it's definitely the most interesting date I've ever been on.

That wasn't something he could deny, and the longer he sat there watching Alfred stare out the window, the more he felt he'd been a little hard on the younger man. He'd been the one to close that gap, after all; a sigh escaped him.

"Alfred."

Blue eyes turned to him, though they weren't as bright as before. "Hm?"

Arthur hesitated before taking a slightly deeper breath than normal. Then he smiled. "I'm sorry. I keep doing this to you. What happened wasn't your fault and I'm sorry for blaming you the way I did."

The American smiled just slightly. "It's all right. I did get carried away."

"Yes, but so did I."

Uneasy smiles were exchanged as they regarded each other. Well, at least he'd managed to admit to being wrong, and the dimness that had leaked into Alfred's eyes was already starting to fade.

Good. I don't want him upset because of me.

They had yet to say anything more when the waitress returned with their drinks, which they thanked her for in a properly embarrassed way. The quiet continued and Arthur sipped his tea in order to give himself something to do. He watched the other man over the rim of his cup, his curiosity about him growing. Everything about Alfred fascinated him and, despite having taken several drinks of his tea, he could still taste the American when he licked his lips. It was a pleasant taste, refreshing and warm and minty so he knew the taller man had brushed his teeth before coming to pick him up.

How cute, he thought with a small smile. Gently, he placed his cup back on its saucer, the china clinking ever so softly when it touched.

"Where are you from, Alfred?" The question was light and curious, designed to start up conversation because Arthur was growing bored with the silence. He watched as Alfred swallowed a mouthful of his coffee—how could he drink that rubbish?—and slowly set down mug.

"I'm from American, o'course." A playful grin appeared on his face and Arthur fought back a scowl, settling for pursing his lips and raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, but where in America?"

Alfred shrugged. "I've lived all over. Where do you think I'm from?"

Unwilling to answer and be wrong, Arthur shook his head as he smiled slightly. "I'm not guessing. Your accent is American but I can't place it."

The blue-eyed man grinned and laid one arm on the table, leaning forward. "You like my accent, Artie?"

The playful, teasing tone made Arthur's ears turn red, though he refused to show any other sign of his reaction.

"I might, if I knew what sort of accent it was," the Brit countered, sitting back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other as he picked up his cup and took another drink of his tea.

"It's American."

Frustrating wanker!

Arthur rolled his eyes. "There's not need to be difficult, Alfred. It's a simple question. Aren't we supposed to be getting to know each other? We're on our first date, after all."

Blue and green eyes met as the two regarded each other, waiting for the next move of the game to be made.

"I was born near Boston, on a small farm," Alfred finally conceded. "I worked there with my father until I was eighteen. I had odd jobs for a few years before I met Feliks. He's a fashion designer and hired me to be a male model. I've been doing that ever since."

A model. Of course.

It made so much sense that Arthur was almost embarrassed he hadn't thought of it himself. Of course this perfect man was a model. What else would he be? And growing up working on a farm—little wonder his palms were calloused and he was so muscular.

I'm on a date with an American model. I kissed an American model.

How had he ever managed to catch this man's eye?

"Don't go all quiet on me, now," Alfred said, trying to smile as Arthur continued to stare at him.

The green-eyed man blinked. "I'm sorry. It's just that I'm really not surprised, and I'm trying to figure out why a man like you would be interested in someone like me," he admitted, looking into his tea as if the brown liquid could give him the answer.

"Someone like you?" Alfred repeated, a confused frown appearing on his handsome face. "Why wouldn't I be interested in you?"

Arthur shrugged, silent. There were so many reasons why Alfred shouldn't be interested in him that Arthur felt like he might choke on them if he tried to speak. How many negative attributes had been thrown at him over the years? Cold, distant, stubborn, old-fashioned, stingy, boring, coward. He was too quiet, too set in his ways. He was plain and unattractive and too temperamental for anyone to put up with him.

Ugly. That's the word they use. I'm ugly inside and out because I have a temper and I'm too pale, too skinny and…

He had to make a conscious effort not to lift a hand and cover his forehead.

Bushy brows. Caterpillars. Disgusting. Unhygienic. Why didn't he pluck them? He might be handsome, then.

The memories put a bitter taste in his mouth and he took a drink of his tea to try to wash it away. It was then that he realized how long it had been since Alfred asked the question that he had yet to answer.

"I, uh, have been told unpleasant things about myself," he mumbled quietly, feeling extra self-conscious about his appearance and personality. God, he wanted to prove them all wrong, wanted to show them that Arthur Kirkland was everything but the labels that had been attached to him. But what if he couldn't do it? What if Alfred developed the same opinion as the others before him?

The thought almost crushed him, made him want to go home and wrap himself in a big fluffy blanket and never come out again.

"Hey," he looked up to see a reassuring smile on Alfred's face, "I don't care what anyone has said or will ever say about you or to you. I don't care. I barely know you, and I already know that whatever 'unpleasant things' you've been told are wrong. Whoever said them is wrong about you, Arthur Kirkland."

Speechless, the Brit stared back at him for several moments before he couldn't help it anymore. A smile broke out over his face and he knew he would have hugged the American had they not been seated across from each other the way they were. There were even tears beginning to form under his eyes, though he held them back with everything he had. Now was not the time to start crying, especially not in front of Alfred in the middle of a tea shop.

"Thank you," he murmured, and the American nodded slightly, smiling unwavering. To cover up how emotional he'd become, Arthur finished off his tea and began searching his pockets for his wallet. "So, ah, where did you want to go for dinner?" Before he could take out enough money to pay for his tea, Alfred placed several notes on the table top, separating it into two piles.

"I'm buying," he stated firmly upon seeing Arthur's confused expression. "We're on a date, after all." That earned a blush and nod from the Briton.

"What about that?" Arthur asked, indicating the other pile.

Alfred grinned as he tucked his wallet back into his jeans pocket and stood. "A tip for the waitress, as both an apology for what happened and a thank you that she didn't throw us out."

"Oh." He'd almost completely forgotten about that already, which was surprising because he usually held onto his embarrassment and anger for days. This time, he'd only managed to stay upset for about five minutes.

What is it about this man that makes him affect me so much? the paler blond wondered, following Alfred out of the tea shop and down the street. On an impulse, he quickened his pace to walk beside the American and slipped his arm through Alfred's. He kept his gaze straight forward, though he knew he was blushing and that Alfred had looked at him in surprise. Still, he didn't pull his arm back or give himself the chance to regret doing it.

"Where are we going for dinner?" he asked after a few moments had passed, glancing up at the American to find that a rather smug smile had appeared on Alfred's face.

"There's a restaurant near the river I wanna try. I thought it would be nice if we could watch the sunset while we ate."

A sunset over the river? So he's a romantic.

He'd never had much patience for romance—it always got him embarrassed and flustered—though after how interesting tea had been, he definitely wanted to see how dinner would go whether it was romantic or not.

Tightening his grip on Alfred's arm just slightly, Arthur smiled. "Sounds lovely."