A/N: Things are finally getting somewhere! HALLELUJAH! Many thanks for the support :D
"Here, have another," Arthur grumbled, shaking out another Tylenol tablet for the American who was currently downing the third cup of coffee they'd paid Starbucks an extra $75 to deliver. Alfred cussed under his breath at his painstaking hangover, his head on a pillow.
The two had woken up to a hellish headache, and both didn't want to move. Eventually, they'd each taken a cushion and Alfred pulled out his phone, searching up the nearest coffee shop with some app, and convinced the manager he would pay more to have it delivered. Once the travel box of coffee had arrived, the two had coerced the poor delivery boy to grab the bottle of extra strength Tylenol from Arthur's medicine cabinet.
And now the two were currently in fetal position, waiting for the pain reliever to kick in.
"Ugh…" Alfred mumbled, trying to think properly. "That stuff was amazing, but it's evil."
"You could have stopped whenever. I don't even remember what we said or did." Arthur groaned, wrinkling his nose as he continued drinking his cup of coffee. Unlike the American, he was still on his first cup, barely halfway done.
Alfred nodded, though after the coffee had arrived, he was slowly getting memories back, some he couldn't decipher it they were hallucinations or not.
Arthur was only focused on numbing his headache. He lay on the floor motionless, eyes shut.
"Hey, Artie?"
"Spit it out, git, my head is throbbing immensely."
"Do you want to go to dinner?"
Arthur chucked the closed bottle of pain relievers at the American.
X-X-X-X-X-X-X
The ticking of the second hand of Arthur's clock seemed to grow louder in volume as the owner buttoned and unbuttoned his shirt repeatedly. He knew a few walls down, Alfred was gargling mouthwash to rid the taste of vomit from his mouth, and he too was also changing for dinner. How this escalated was beyond Arthur, but with his head throbbing, and his stomach hungry from emptying its complaints earlier, the offer sounded mostly innocent. He glanced at the clock that red 8:56pm, and sighed, buttoning up his shirt for the last time. The English blond tousled his hair and grabbed an old dinner jacket. He didn't know where the heck Alfred was planning to go, but he hoped for his sake it was somewhere modest.
"Alfred?" he called, knocking on the washroom door.
"ONE SEC!~" Alfred's jovial voice sang. Obviously, his hangover had been disappearing well. Arthur tapped his foot impatiently and checked the Tag Heuer watch he had clasped under his sleeve. Dinner wasn't unusual at this time of day, on a Saturday no less, but he really didn't appreciate eating out so late.
Call Arthur an old man if you consider past 10 early.
"THE HERO IS READY," Alfred boomed as he swung the washroom door with much gusto, a proud smile on his face. It was a blinding smile; the one Alfred could muster up in times like these. He had on a crisp navy and white gingham shirt that Arthur recognized from many of those wealthy prep-school boys, with his dark grey blazer, sleeves pushed up. With his age and physical stature, Arthur was slightly jealous that Alfred made a rather casual ensemble look put-together. The lawyer tucked his wallet inside his blazer and lead the way out. Arthur breathed heavily, but followed. Britannia hissed from the corner at the American, licking her claws with intent. Arthur pretended to ignore the cat. Alfred grimaced at Britannia, hand running on his cheek from the visibly red line near his jugular.
The two walked down the flight of stairs, mustering up random words. You could tell both were slightly awkward in the situation, but Alfred tried to pay it no mind. He encouraged Arthur that they were just friends, and Alfred was just returning the favour for using up Arthur's expensive alcohol.
"Anyone ever told you have huge-ass eyebrows?" Alfred chuckled as he waved down a cab. This was probably the third or fourth cab they'd taken. Arthur was so used to walking or bussing to places, unless of course he was running late.
Arthur rubbed his temples.
"It's a weird thing. It's not hereditary, if you're wondering. I don't originate from a bunch of 'huge-ass eyebrow' parents. They just are what they are. In fact, one my best students have rather large eyebrows as well."
Alfred laughed, "I mean, they're monstrous. But they sort of suit you…" The American clicked the cab door open, gesturing for Arthur to get in.
Arthur 'tch-ed', and slid into the cab. Alfred moved in beside him, and ordered the cab to the restaurant of his choosing. The name sounded very foreign to the Englishman, but he never really went beyond his community, least of all for dinner. He had assumed Alfred was new to the borough that wasn't Manhattan, but either the man had Google-Mapped something, or he was much more knowledgeable about New York than Arthur gave him credit for.
"Where is that?" Arthur asked curiously. "I rarely go out."
"Oh, you're a cooker?"
Arthur chuckled, "If I do say so myself. But, Gilbert has me convinced takeout is the way to go, and I agree with him because it's less time consuming. Are we going a favourite of your's?"
Alfred gave him another megawatt smile. "There's one like in Manhattan, and I LOVE it."
"What type of cuisine?"
"Oh, everything," the lawyer drooled. He could see Arthur fluster at the thought, and that told him he was on the right track about making sure the professor had a great time at dinner. From what he'd been told, teachers made many numbers less than esteemed lawyers. There was probably only a small chance Arthur had even heard of the restaurant Alfred was directing the driver to. The prices were incredibly steep, but for a first date (Alfred was secretly calling it that, even If he did tell Arthur it was just a dinner with friends), he wanted to go all out.
Actually, he didn't know what Arthur had in preference for food. He had texted Matthew in the washroom about where English people ate. The brother had simply flipped Alfred off over text about his ignorance. If Alfred had a personal say, he would have taken Arthur to McDonalds, a secret fetish of the lawyer's. Nowadays, he was invited to lunch so often during his working days that he spent cumulative amounts of money on $30 sandwiches and $20 soups. His colleagues all seemed to look down upon fast food, and Alfred was quite young compared to them all. It was unseemly to suggest going to McDonalds, or anything considered 'middle class'. For Arthur's case, he'd actually considered going somewhere more comfy and less pricey to not flaunt his wealth, but from the nice shots they'd had, he now was under the pretense that Arthur had secretly high tastes.
And Alfred was willing to feed it.
Arthur pulled out his phone and played a mindless game of hangman as Alfred continued to direct the driver down the darkened sky.
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
Blink one. Blink two. Blink three.
Repeat.
There was a New York branch?
Never mind that, there were two?
Time really had gone by, hadn't it?
"Come in, Artie!" Alfred beamed, holding out the door for his new somewhat-companion.
Arthur nodded warily, stepping into the restaurant.
"The ones from Northern France, if you will," Alfred said in a serious tone, pointing to the two names on the wine menu. The flamboyant waiter nodded, as if all of his customers ordered much too much food for two people. The lawyer continued to list a bunch of items off the menu after Arthur had insisted Alfred choose. Arthur shut his menu, his brain already calculating how much this was going to cost. The numbers started to hurt his head more than the shots.
"That's all it, Sir?"
"Yes, thank you," the American nodded, handing back the menus. Arthur's face was stoic, as if trying to concentrate not to crack.
The lights.
The plants.
Even the fricking table setting!
They all so completely extravagant, and used in such a manner that defined the lifestyles of the wealthy and careless, and Arthur couldn't do anything but breathe it in.
And it stung and shook his body violently.
Alfred could tell there was something wrong with Arthur, but he didn't want to press anything. He thought it might've been the after effects of a massive hangover, and just fiddled with the cutlery, waiting for the food. A good dinner was always something that could create conversation.
A server wheeled in a lavish cart full of food for the Jones table, setting each down with grace. Alfred's mouth watered as the final plate was revealed, exhibiting an ornate risotto.
"Don't be modest, Artie! Dig in!"
As Alfred piled on meat and spaghetti on his plate, Arthur prodded a familiar chicken dish and dished some out on his plate.
He chewed, and swallowed, and smiled and washed it down with water. Alfred offered some wine to him, and he accepted graciously.
"It's good, right?"
"It's fantastic, Alfred," Arthur nodded quietly. "Thank you for inviting me to dinner."
Alfred nearly shat rainbows. Arthur was being nice to him!
"Yeah, hey, man, no problem! You ever come to Manhattan, and we can eat there all day!"
Arthur smiled weakly.
With the new level of happiness, Alfred continued to eat endlessly, occasionally bringing up a question or two for Arthur. The Englishman had stopped eating for quite some time, but Alfred hadn't realized it. It was only when Alfred stabbed the last mushroom that he noticed Arthur start to fidget.
"Hey…uh, Artie, you okay, man?"
No, he wasn't.
"Arthur? Arthur! What's wrong…?!"
Arthur pursed his lips and removed the napkin from his lap.
"I'm so sorry, Alfred."
And without warning, the Englishman pulled out a $50 bill from his jacket, slammed it on the table, and ran. Just his luck, a bus (its direction irrevelant to Arthur at the moment) was just dropping off passengers. He immediately hopped on and swiped his MetroCard.
Alfred sat there for another 10 minutes, replaying what had just happened.
He was a graduate of Yale, an honours student, and a lawyer who made quite a few figures for his age.
Yet, he was completely befuzzled by Arthur's sudden need to get out…
And Alfred had just let him.
After three transfers, Arthur found himself somewhat close to home. He had about a 24 minute walk to his home, and he was hoping to get home quick. The dark wasn't exactly his best friend.
The tap of his shoes were relatively light, so when a dark shadow loomed over him, and a pair of scuffing sneakers at his heels, the Briton tensed.
A cackly laugh burned into Arthur's ears.
"What do we have here? A big eye-browed freak?!"
Arthur gritted his teeth, his fist clenching.
"I don't want any violence. If it's money you want, I apologize, I'm a teacher's salary. I request you leave me alone."
"No can do, Eyebrows. Some of us need to eat."
And the attacked swung his fist, but not before Arthur grabbed his elbow and arm and snapped. The attacker hissed in pain, collapsing on his knees, giving Arthur just enough time to run for it.
It was two escapes in one night for the Brit.
Seemed like the morning jog had helped.
Afterword:
Oh, Artie~