A/N: Arthur's inner thoughts are voiced several times throughout this chapter, they will be full sentences in italics.
Arthur growled at the ceiling. His room phone was bleating loudly and obnoxiously, breaking the previous morning stillness. Arthur grabbed it groggily and mumbled into the receiver. "What?"
A clear receptionist's voice answered rather disapprovingly. "You have a visitor who insisted I call your room."
Arthur blinked.
"A visitor?"
"Yes sir."
"Who exactly?"
Arthur heard a sigh over the line, then in the distance, "Sir, are you positive Mr. Kirkland is expecting you?"
The receptionist came back on the line after a short garbled conversation. "He says he's here to give you 'the tour'? Should I call security?"
Arthur just about dropped the phone. "Bloody fuck, how in damned hell—"
"Excuse me?!"
Arthur blushed. "No! Er, no, no, so very sorry. Yes, tell him I'll be down in ten."
Arthur arrived in the lobby to witness Alfred signing a slip of paper and smiling devilishly at the now-blushing receptionist.
Arthur snorted.
Honestly.
Alfred turned to catch sight of Arthur, and his face split into a grin. Arthur tilted his head. It seemed Alfred had an addition to his wardrobe today.
"Nice glasses."
Alfred walked towards Arthur.
"Thanks! People don't usually recognize me in them, so I'm kind of like Clark Kent!"
A blank look filled Arthur's eyes. Alfred explained.
"You know, like superman? Take 'em off and suddenly I'm famous!"
Arthur rolled his eyes and couldn't help a flicker of a smile to cross his lips.
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
With a twinge of resentment, he noticed the receptionist still gazing dazedly at Alfred.
"Can we start?"
Alfred smiled. "Sure! We're driving somewhere though, car's out front."
Arthur followed him out to his car, rather nervously. He wasn't sure he wanted to be going anywhere with Alfred Jones, let alone by himself. It wasn't that that Arthur couldn't stand up for himself. He was sure a knee in the balls would end Alfred and the ride; however, he supposed some information on his daily life could be gained from the trip. He tried asking Alfred where they were going, but Alfred just shook his head and smiled.
It was insufferable.
Yet Arthur was going along with it.
Arthur kicked himself. He wondered when had he gotten so impulsive.
He blamed Emma. And America.
As they drove, he took the liberty to look around Alfred's car in order to assess certain facts about his existence.
In other words, Arthur snooped.
The only thing that really caught his eye was the guitar case in the backseat. It seemed worn and had several —mostly red, white, and blue— stickers on it.
Arthur glanced at Alfred, who was staring directly back at him with electric blue eyes.
Flames erupted across Arthur's face.
"Bloody hell! Focus on the road, what are you doing?!"
Alfred's gaze returned to the forward position, all the while chortling to himself about paranoia and Brits. Said Brit decided to comment about the case, if not just to get Alfred continuously looking towards the road while he was talking.
"Interesting guitar case."
Alfred looked like he'd been given an early Christmas present.
"Thanks! Just an old acoustic in there, for if I get an idea or just wanna play. She comes with me everywhere."
Arthur was intrigued.
"Do you write music?"
"Yeah, sometimes. Lyrics can get hard though. I was never too good at poetry, which is what lyrics should be, ya know?"
The Briton nodded. Arthur loved poetry, but having watched many of his peers struggle with the subject, he understood.
Suddenly Arthur scowled in realization.
"So you're telling me there's some poor songwriter behind the scenes that you're taking all the credit away from?"
Arthur realized he had sounded rather scathing.
He didn't care, Alfred was rich and famous, he could cope.
Alfred looked confused.
"You've seriously never heard of my song writer?"
Arthur rolled his eyes "I'm not a fan idiot. I don't follow everything about you."
Alfred laughed. "Okay, I get it. Not a fan."
He paused to smile. "My songwriter does get credit, I make sure of that. My fans seem to really like him. His name's Roderich Edelstien, and he was pretty famous for classical music too. He makes the songs sound a little more intimate, ya know? He works with this guy Gil who plays guitar and drums for me. I wasn't sure they could write together, but their stuff does really well."
Arthur pulled out a notebook and scribbled down what Jones had said.
Alfred watched him write.
"You're dedicated."
Arthur snorted. "It's my job."
He finished his note and his forehead creased. "How did you manage to locate me anyway?"
Alfred rubbed the back of his neck.
"Uhm, I kind of called Williams Dunne. Didn't take me too long to get which hotel you were staying at."
Arthur felt his jaw drop.
"Why?"
Alfred lifted an eyebrow. "Whaddya mean, why?"
"Why would you go out of your way to find me? I don't understand."
"I like you dude! We're friends!"
The Brit looked at Alfred, shocked.
"Friends?"
"Yeah, I consider you a friend."
Arthur blushed and looked down at his lap.
They continued the drive, turning off the main road they'd been on for quite some time, and then making their way to a small building in another little town.
"A restaurant?"
Alfred grinned, white teeth gleaming. "Yep! My town's so small, a tour wouldn't have been interesting at all, so this way at least you get to have some genuine American food!"
"Wonderful." Arthur responded, voice laced with sarcasm.
"Hey man, if you don't like burgers, they have other stuff. I'm not sure what, 'cause it's crazy not to like burgers, but you know the deal. I mean, you're eating with me, right? Guaranteed amazing-ness."
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah alright git, be careful and don't trip over your ego."
Jones flashed his wide smile again. "Git means awesome, right?"
Arthur elbowed him and walked inside.
Jones was still rubbing his side when the two sat down and ordered.
"You have sharp elbows, god!"
"I'm sure God appreciates knowing about his elbows."
Jones looked confused, and Arthur smiled proudly at his own sense of humor.
As they waited for the singer's giant sandwich thing and Arthur's salad, Alfred talked about how he liked being home, and asked Arthur about England, and basically everything in between. Jones did not like to shut up for long, and Arthur was content listening, so the lunch went well.
He found Alfred to be a surprisingly enjoyable person, despite previous prejudices and several incredibly intrusive questions.
For example, when Alfred asked about Arthur's ex-boyfriend, Arthur took deep breaths to avoid grabbing the cutlery and shoving it down Jones's throat.
Alfred saw his companion's facial expression and changed the subject.
Arthur twirled the straw in his milkshake, one of the only American confections he found he had a weakness for, and sighed.
Alfred was taking a bite of his burger, and the Brit took the rare space of momentary silence to think.
He didn't want to enjoy time with Alfred.
Alfred looks at me as a reporter, as a tour guide. He's straighter than a ruler, anyway.
It was something everyone who told Arthur to 'just be himself' overlooked. They never understood the difficulty of being attracted someone who could not only easily prefer the other gender, but also sometimes thought his preference was disgusting, even sinful.
Alfred didn't seem overly alarmed or anything, but one never knew.
"Are you okay that I'm gay?"
Arthur's eyes widened a little bit. He hadn't expected to say that.
Alfred choked a little bit, then swallowed hastily.
"Of course I am." Then he hesitated.
Arthur turned away.
Just as I thought.
Hesitation.
"No, Arthur, I, just, my dad…"
Arthur frowned at the table. "What."
"My dad was super homophobic. He told me boys who liked other boys burned in hell."
The Brit looked back to Alfred, hoping the shock written all over his face didn't morph onto anger. Attempting to keep his voice level and try to stay calm for once in his life, Arthur forced out few words.
"Do you agree with him?"
A smile grew on Alfred's lips, despite attempts to stop it.
"Arthur for someone who seems in touch, you're kind of oblivious sometimes—"
Arthur recoiled and Alfred paused.
Alfred was just as Arthur had expected.
Nothing but a prejudiced bastard drunk on fame who did indeed hate everything Arthur was and thought he could correct Arthur for it. He took Arthur out to eat probably just to lecture him, to inform Arthur that he shouldn't have such 'sinful' feelings; feelings that had taken Arthur a whole period of teen rebellion to accept.
Arthur had been oblivious, of course he had. Jones didn't really want to have lunch; he wanted to tell Arthur how much he hated him. Arthur shook his head, to think he had thought of Jones as a possible—
Arthur jumped to his feet and ran out of the restaurant.
A/N#2: Hi everyone, I'M SO SORRY I totally didn't update for the longest while and ugh I am so sorry again. To my credit I've had some shit going on but I'm still so terribly embarrassed to have just left this hanging in cyberspace.
Please, if you have questions or comments, review or PM me! It'd be lovely to hear from you! :) Fav's and Follows are always appreciated but never necessary.