CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
By the time they got to Starbucks, it was two in the afternoon and both of them were soaked to the bone from the amount of times they had shoved each other into snow banks - which was probably every five minutes, at a regular time interval. Despite their respective ages, and so-called sense of enlightened maturity, they just could not help but impel one another into the waiting piles. There was no way that one snow bank in Central Park had gotten away from their presence unscathed. As an end result the two of them were nearly frozen, the pair unable to feel their fingers or move their toes; their noses frozen and steadily running as though they were little children. Once they managed to wander their way to the franchise, clinging to each other in order for a purchase of warmth and laughing with a sort of breathlessness, to say that they were elated was an understatement. Starbucks looked as though it were heaven on earth to the two - the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.
But then again, if it weren't for the sudden change in the weather, they would have remained outside despite the lack of feeling in almost all of their body parts; beyond the glass of the coffee shop's front window, they watched the snow that was falling even heavier than before and the winds were beginning to pick up quite a bit, whipping the previously dainty little flakes around like tiny projectiles, and outside it was absolutely bitter; the temperature must have dropped by at least fifteen degrees within the last hour of them being in the park.
The coffee shop, however, was a warm and snug haven against the arctic world beyond the thick glass of the storefront that gave them a view of the Manhattan traffic slowly chugging by at a crawling pace. For this reason, they were glad the weather had changed as suddenly as it did and prompted them to run to the safety of the nearest place that sold hot beverages. The booth the two shared was towards the back of the room, tucked snugly away from the world but close enough to the fireplace to feel the heat coming from it. The American was seated on one side of the booth while his younger companion was stretched the length of the other side, polar bear toy set on the table and pressed up against the wall, overlooking the two with black, glassy eyes. Its fur was soft, white, almost velvety to the touch, and around its neck was a knitted red scarf; very childish in make but the Canadian had fawned with delight when he had seen it, which was what prompted Alfred to purchase that particular one instead of a plain white polar bear.
The toy had been lovingly named Kumajiro, and within the past two hours of ownership, the Canadian had already butchered his name several times for the fact of being unable to properly remember it.
Alfred had suggested he name the bear Carl simply because it would be easy enough to remember, but no, apparently that wasn't good enough; he just had to go with something as inane as Kumajiro. Of course.
It was because the littler fucker was artistic and that was how he rolled.
Music, something that sounded like jazz mixed with an indie-rock type of music, played softly over the speakers, helping to give the establishment a homey sort of feel to it. Not that it did not have one to begin with, but the soft music playing over the speakers simply added to the place. Shucking off his jacket, Alfred draped it in the corner of the booth and stretched, grimacing at how his sweater had gotten wet through the material of his warm coat. There were patches of mild dampness, and places where the fabric had gotten completely saturated from the snow seeping in through the seams; so much for a good, quality coat these days. Blonde hair stuck off messily, his cheeks and the tip of his nose were bright red, and he still shivered despite how warm it was in the building. Despite all this, it was pleasant to feel so freezing cold, pleasant to feel numb all over except for on the right side of his body, where Matthew had been pressed the full length of him, cuddling in close at the lawyer's offer to provide him some warmth until they got to the coffee shop. He had been surprised when the younger man agreed - very surprised indeed.
From the other side of the table, Matthew observed the lawyer quietly as he removed his own beige parka, frowning minutely when he found his own flannel shirt was in the same state of soaked disarray. It should not have been surprising, but his frown was filled with slight dismay at finding his darkly coloured shirt to be drenched. Piling his jacket in the same sloppy manner as what the other did, he stretched lazily and shook his hand through his curly hair, trying to get the excess water of melted snow out of the locks, spraying the little droplets down over his clothing, only succeeding in making what he wore wetter and colder. At this he grumbled and sighed, giving another languid stretch before flopping back, looking sleepy and thoroughly tuckered out from their childish adventure in the park.
The hazed-over look on the other's face caused Alfred to give a small smile, and he observed the man with a sort of contentment. He looked sedate, just lying there and curled up like a cat would in front of a fireplace, basking in the warmth and glow of the flames. "Sleepy?" he teased with a quiet chuckle, leaning back as he stuffed his hands under his arms, trying to get some warmth back into them before he tried to go over and get them something warm to drink and eat; there was nothing like having frozen fingers while trying to sign for a credit card, fumbling like an idiot with the pen while trying to scratch out his name.
In response, he was given a slow nod and sloppy grin as the Canadian curled up in his corner of their booth, resting his head back against the wall, staring out across the shop and over to the windows. "I'm so tired now; it's been a while since I've gotten this much fresh air in one go," he said softly, still smiling that dazed little smile of his. Then, he looked directly over to him, tearing his eyes away from whatever it was beyond the glass that was fascinating him for the time being - perhaps it was the way the snow was falling that had enraptured him. "That was fun."
Wiggling his fingers, grimacing as his knuckles cracked (presumably, they were after finally defrosting a bit), Alfred smiled, trying to hold back a yawn; he hadn't realized how tired he was after getting, either. "Same here," he said. Fresh air could be such a potent source; he remembered how, when he was a little boy and living in Lowell, his mother would get him to spend all his time outdoors, especially during the winter, so that he would actually sleep at night. As he mulled on this, he realized that he could not wait to crawl into bed and just sleep, letting Oreo curl up with him and not bother with coming-to until at least twelve the next day. "I usually drive everywhere, and none of the guys I know are quite as free-spirited as you, Mattie. I think they would all rather hang themselves than go out and do what we did this afternoon."
Lazily turning his head in the direction of the other once more, he pressed his cheek up against the wall and gave another small chuckle. "Your friends sound dreadfully boring."
"I don't know if I would call them friends," Alfred said, turning his gaze away to stare in the direction Matthew had been previously fixated on. He focused on the patterns the falling snow created, following the flakes with dull aquamarine optics.
Frowning at the sudden change in the American's mood, he leant forward and tilted his head to the side. "Why do you say that?" he inquired gently, trying to ignore the burst of cold air into the warm shop as another two men entered the place. It was so warm in there, so comfortable, that they just had to come in and ruin the toastiness of the place.
Alfred shrugged. He still wouldn't look over at Matthew, much to the Albertan's chagrin. "I 'unno," he said. "Like, I go drinking with them and stuff, and we used to dick around in university like the assholes we were, but I don't know if I'd go as far as considering them my friends. Not now, at least. They've changed, and so have I. Their idea of fun is going and getting loaded, competing in golf tournaments, bragging about their fuckin' trophy wives and then talking about their cars. My idea of fun is getting loaded, going out wandering around everywhere, playing videogames and having fun. Maybe they've just grown up and I haven't, at least not in my eyes. Depressing business, really."
"Well, hey, that happens, right?" Matt asked, somewhat rhetorically, watching the other closely. He noted, with some disdain, that the man across from him just looked so sad and lost, like a baby sheep. With a tender smile on his face, he gently reached across the space and lightly punched him on the shoulder, his expression somewhat affectionate. "You're just a big kid at heart. At least you're not a stick in the mud, right?"
A soft chuckle escaped Alfred at the words, and he tilted his head to the side a little, watching the other over the rims of his glasses. The concern in his eyes seemed to be genuine, or as genuine as someone like the Canadian in question could make it, and it warmed the man to know that. Warmed him more and in a way that the fireplace just beside them was not capable of. For a brief moment, he let their knuckles graze, swallowing thickly at the contact, revelling in the moment, the feel, the softness and the anxiety he was all at once filled with. The two locked eyes, something made itself know, and Alfred didn't quite know what it was but it made his heart flutter.
"W-What do you want to drink?" he asked, voice still quiet; it was as if he were afraid to speak up louder than necessary in the quaint little Starbucks location. It was just so relaxing in there, and he didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to either of them, despite how much he loved it when all eyes were on him. But in a place like this, and with someone like the young man across from him, he couldn't help but long for a little bit of privacy. Watching as the other turned around and hauled a five dollar bill from his wallet, Alfred frowned when the money was handed to him. "I don't want your money," he snipped, waving it away dismissively with a snort of derision, "I'll buy for both of us."
"Uh, how about no?"
"Uh, how about yes?"
"Al, I can pay for it myself."
"And it's pointless when I have credit cards with every major credit corporation in North America, and several European ones to boot."
"Shut up, Moneybags, and let the poor boy exert his dominance by paying for his own drink."
"Dude, just shut up and let me buy it for you, alright?" Alfred groaned, shoving the hand away once more and rolling his eyes. "Stop being such a man about it."
Matthew flushed bright red, but he finally relented, slumping down in his spot. "I'll have a large white hot chocolate," he mumbled, shaking his head and sniffing. Arms were folded over his slim chest in a gesture of petulant defiance but he made no move to try and give him the money again.
MISSION: PAY FOR MATTHEW'S DRINK.
"Aw, ain't that cute?"
"Like two assholes on their first date."
Operation status: Complete; Success.
Achievement points unlocked: 150G
Laughter left him, and Alfred looked properly smug. "Glad to hear," he said with a smirk, watching as he returned the five dollar bill to his pocket once more, glaring sullenly across the table.
Turning around and leaving him without another word, gloating silently to himself and adding another point to the score chart (Alfred: two. Matthew: 9481 x 10²) as he waltzed over to the counter, extracting his wallet from his pants pocket, looking up at the menu, grumbling darkly as two young men pushed past him. One of them, a brunette with an oddly stuck off piece of hair (much like his own) gave him an apologetic look as though he were apologizing for the presence of the shorter man with a shock of white-blonde hair. Alfred smiled weakly before turning back to the counter and giving the woman on the other side of coy, sweet smile.
"Hello, Sir," she said in a flat voice. Despite how indifferent she obviously was trying to be to his existence, she blushed deeply and Alfred delighted in the flush that crept along her cheeks; God, he loved having that effect on women, especially pretty ones, like the Asiatic one behind the counter. Didn't even have to try; just had to flash a sweet little smile and BAM weak knees like an old lady.
"Hey, I was wondering if I be able to have a large white hot chocolate, a large Caffé Americano, and two pieces of that strawberry cheesecake?" he asked with a slightly drawl, is vocal infliction being played upon a little heavier than usual, still smiling at her as he pointed to the two remaining pieces of cake on the other side of the display case's glass.
The young woman, who appeared to be Vietnamese, did not look impressed with his presence - not one little bit. "Is that all, Sir?" she asked, cracking her bubblegum saucily, deep brown eyes narrowed into slits as she straightened out her forest green apron.
For a moment, Alfred simply stood there, blinking slowly and wondering just what the hell it was he had done to piss the girl off; it would probably be nice before she whipped out some sort of rice paddle and beat him to death with the damn thing. Then he gave her a weak smile and nodded. "Yeah," he murmured, glancing back to the table, and doing a sharp double take when he saw the brunette and silver-haired man from just a few moments before sitting down in the booth he had left Matthew alone in. A scowl formed on his face, deeply marring his features and he huffed spitefully, pursing his lips slightly.
"Your total is $17.76," she said, following his gaze and smirking a little. Then, as though she had noticed the frown on the customer's face and the saddened look - so much for privacy with the Canadian - her eyes went wide and she grinned. It was the kind of grin that said 'I know something you don't know, and there's no fucking way I'm telling you what it is'. Then she frowned thoughtfully. "Do you want your drinks in paper cups or would you like to purchase two reusable mugs instead?"
Locking his eyes back on the woman, he nodded slowly, a shy smile crossing his face; Matthew would rather use the reusable mug over a paper one; that much he was certain of. "Yes," he said, nodding. "I'll have those in two reusable mugs."
"So that brings your total to $19.41," she said, and the smile she wore lost a little bit of its initial harshness. Handing her his Amex card, he watched as she swiped it through the debit terminal and then handed the card back to him. A moment later he was handed a receipt and a pen, which he used to quickly sign the paper handed to him, and he handed it back to the woman, glancing over his shoulder again at the two men seated in the booth with the Canadian.
Damn it all.
Stepping off to the side and taking the two plates of cheesecake he had purchased - a New York strawberry cheesecake that was decked with fresh chunks of berry and a thick, gooey red sauce - as he watched the other woman behind the counter, a bright-eyed brunette with a daisy tucked behind an ear, make his and Matthew's respective drinks. The hot chocolate, he decided with a small smile, smelt absolutely heavenly. Taking the cup that belong to Matt with a nod of thanks, he set that one down and then took his own coffee, reaching for the carton of milk and pouring some in, mixing in a few packets of sugar as he went before attempting to balance the two cups and plates in either hand without dropping anything. As long as he moved slowly, hung the drinks from his thumbs by their handles and kept a plate in either hand, he decided as he took measured steps (thank God the table wasn't too far away), eyes flickering between the floor and watching the space in front of him.
Thankfully enough (someone must have listened to him today) he made it back to the table without incident and he handed Matthew his plate of cheesecake and his mug of hot chocolate, delighting in how the young man's eyes positively lit up. Another point for the home team today, old chap.
He did not miss, however, the icily cold glare he received from the platinum-haired man seated on the other side of the table. In his eyes was a look of utter ire, and something allusive to envy. The hell was that all about?
Sliding in to sit beside the Canadian, he smirked at the young man across from him before sipping on his coffee, inwardly grimacing as it burnt his tongue. Before turning to his food, Matthew lightly nudged Alfred's thigh with his own thin one and gave him a small smile of thanks, grinning lightly up at the other. In return, Alfred nudged him back and grinning. From the corner of his eye he could see the platinum-haired man's expression grow to be nothing less than thunderous.
"I still can't believe you never told me, Gil," Matthew mumbled, glowering across the table at the blonde, stabbing at his cake somewhat ferociously. The brunette with an odd cows lick flinched at the violent gesture, looking away with a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose as though it would relieve him of some of the obvious stress he was feeling.
"I'm sorry I didn't, Birdie," the other said - presumably Gil (probably short for something, or who knows what), sipping from his cup of whatever the fuck it was. "I just figured you'd be mad an-"
"Yes, yes I am mad," Matthew snapped, eyes heated as he set down his fork and leaning back against the padding of the seat. "You have no idea how fucking rotted I am about this shit."
The blonde sighed, setting down his cup and looking away, propping his cheek in his palm and staring out to the windows. There was a disappointed look upon his icy white face, and Alfred wasn't sure if the man was disappointed in himself or with the Canadian's harsh reaction. "Birdie, I thought you said you were over m-"
Matthew's cheeks had flushed an interesting shade of red, the brunette looked between the two with wide eyes that had just suddenly realized something and goddamnit, Alfred felt he would have been better off just getting rid of the light bulb altogether because he felt so in the dark with all of this. "I am, Gilbert," Matt said, voice crisp but a soft look upon his face - it was tender, warm, and it was a look his friend had never seen before. From the corner of his eye he watched as Gilbert bit the corner of his lip and stared at the cup in front of him. "I'm just pissed that you didn't come to me and tell me, nor did you tell me anything. 'Cause, y'know, friends tell each other shit and they don't leave them in the dark about dating their goddamn boss."
And then the Canadian slammed his head down on the table.
Oh. That was what this was all about.
Watching his unmoving friend now with a look of mild concern on his lean features, Alfred glanced between the back of his head and to the two on the other side of the table. "I'm really confused," he said in a flat voice.
"You're not the only one," the brunette muttered, rubbing his face slowly, moving his glasses out of the way as he did so.
"Oh shut up, Specs," Gilbert groaned, rubbing at his temple and sighing slightly.
Eyes that were almost purple flashed dangerously and the brunette - lovingly dubbed Specs, much to the pleasure of the American's wry sense of humour - flushed an interesting shade that could not have been healthy by any means. "Call me Specs again, you pint-sized little punk."
"Specs."
Specs' eye twitched and he slapped the other hard across the back of the head, earning a yelp from the tiny, pale-skinned man that was now nursing the back of his head with a dismayed look upon his face.
And all Alfred was beginning to wonder was if Matthew was still conscious.
So it would seem that was the thought on the other's mind as well. "Is he dead?" Gilbert asked, pointing at the seemingly inert Canadian beside the lawyer. There was a concerned look upon his face, and he reached across the space and prodded the top of the head of blonde curls. "I think he might be."
"That's unfortunate," Alfred commented mildly, prodding at his side, sliding the tips of his fingers down along his ribs (ribs he should not have been able to feel so easily) and then back up, eliciting a yelp from Matthew and forcing the youngest at the table to jolt up into a sitting position and to jerk sharply away. His forehead was after turning to a lovely shade of red. He smirked, leaning back and grinning across the table at Gilbert. "See? Nothing to worry about."
"Fuck you, Al," Matthew said, pointing his fork at the American and scowling darkly. Then he promptly returned to nibbling daintily upon his piece of cheesecake, a look of utter bliss appearing on his pale face. "Amazing," he mumbled, looking wholly focused on the dessert before him. The smallest of smiles crossed the other's face as he finally started in on his own piece of cake, humming his own approval.
"Shit, we're late," Gilbert said suddenly, making to stand and grabbing his cup of coffee in the process.
"I told you we would be late," the brunette sniffed, shaking his head lightly as he moved to get off of the thickly cushioned bench. A sigh left him. "But no, you just had to insist we go to Starbucks before we went to the movie when we could have very well waited until after."
"Roderich?"
"Yes?"
"Stop bein' such a priss and just shut up already."
Spluttering on Roderich's behalf caused the two still seated to laugh lightly, Alfred chuckling into his mug of piping-hot coffee while Matt snickered around the fork in his mouth, giving a crooked grin to the two.
Trust in the oddest couple on the face of the earth, or at least currently residing in New York, to provide something small to chuckle at for the time being.
When the two were gone, Alfred moved to stand - the intention was to go and sit back over on the side he had been originally curled up on, to give Matthew back his space. He was stopped by a hand tugging him back down to sit, and with wide eyes he looked to Matt. The Canadian was quietly sipping from his hot chocolate, a dull blush on his cheeks, the colour lightly dusting across his usually translucent flesh. "You can … stay there," he mumbled, keeping his gaze locked firmly on the back of the seats across from them, his birdlike hands tight on the gray and green mug. His hands were trembling slightly and he was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
He felt heat creep up along his neck and into his cheeks, but said nothing; simply remained there beside Matthew, sipping his coffee with a contemplative expression on his face. They were seated so close together that Alfred could feel the heat coming from the other's body. He really wanted to put his arm around him, if anything at all, but it was too early to make a move like that. They had known each other, personally, for a month now, almost two really, and he didn't want to do that; there was the risk of either:
a) Creeping him out.
b) Getting (another) elbow in the face.
c) Jeopardizing the friendship that they had finally managed to stabilize.
d) All of the above options.
And he didn't like any of those options. So, he kept his arms to himself and finished off his cheesecake in a content silence, a tiny smile upon his face as he finished chewing the last piece, deciding then to set in on the rest of his coffee.
"They have the best cheesecake I have ever had," Matthew mumbled, his expression that of the utmost seriousness as he finished off his own piece, scraping the remnants of strawberry, cream cheese and crumbs from the plate, licking off his fork with a grin. "And I've had some damn good cheesecake before."
Chuckling lightly, he sipped his coffee, watching as the other took up his mug of hot chocolate and smiled, running his fingers along the smooth surface of the reusable mug. Their eyes met for a brief moment, Matthew's gaze softened as he still grinned and then they both look away, Alfred feeling warmth creep its way up even further into his cheeks.
Some time was spent sitting in a companionable silence, the two men resting beside one another - Matthew had eventually migrated back to the corner of the booth to curl up slightly, his back to the wall and shoes removed (much to Al's delight, he saw that the younger man was wearing Spongebob Squarepants socks) as he made himself at home. Alfred, on the other hand, was stretched off with his feet (also devoid of shoes at this point) propped up on the bench across from him, slumped down with his head resting back against the wood. Eyes were partially shut and he drained back what was left of his coffee, humming softly with delight as he set his new mug down on the table, flipping the lid shut. He noticed the Canadian had already long-since finished his own beverage and was looking with some mild interest through a novel.
Perking up slightly, Alfred leaned over, bracing himself with the palm of his hand. "Where'd you get that?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
Glancing up, Matt shrugged. "I found it there on the table," he said with a flippant gesture towards a more concealed part of the table. "Maybe someone left it behind as one of those books for people to read and then leave behind as well. Maybe there's some sort of valuable message to be learned that they felt needed to be shared amongst the pretentious, coffee-guzzling traffic of Starbucks."
Frowning a bit and sniffing with mild amusement, he shook his head. "But wouldn't that make us pretentious as well?" Al prodded, shifting a little so that he could peer over Matthew's shoulder at the book, remain comfortable and give the artist his space all at once.
"Of course not," Matthew quipped, adjusting the novel so that the other could look at it, moving a little to the side to create some space for him to be comfortable. The gesture was rewarded with a small smile of thanks. "We're too amazing to be considered pretentious."
"Ah," Alfred said, managing to squirm so that he rested comfortably between Matthew and the back of the booth, relishing their closeness. From their proximity - how close it was - he could smell the younger man's hair; papaya, citrus and something that smelt faintly of watermelon. The tiniest of smiles formed upon his face and he sighed softly. "What book is this, anyway?"
Slight shuffling and he turned the cover around. "It's called The Lemur," he intoned, humming with a thoughtful expression upon his face. "The thing sounds interesting enough, when I read the back. Murder mystery, takes place in New York." He snorted. "What murder mystery doesn't take place in New York, for the love of Christ?"
Alfred laughed. "True enough," he said pleasantly. "It's the reason I have a job."
He wasn't expecting Matthew to laugh at this - what he was expecting, however, was for the young man to scoff, give him a saucy reply and the return to his book - but, he did. Dark eyes lit up, the man's lips curled into a smile, and he went back to reading. And during this, Alfred felt positively elated. So, resting his head to the side, blonde hair going flat against the dark green velour seats, he let his eyes flutter shut while the other continued to read the book that wasn't his, neither of them wanting to move due to the warmth of one another's body and the sheer comfort of the way they sat together, not quite touching but comfortable enough and so that neither one of them were slipping off of the seat.
And when he opened his eyes again - he didn't know how much time had passed; all he knew was that the sky outside was pitch black - he felt groggy; his limbs were numb all over. In his state of such comfort, he had actually fallen asleep. Eyes going wide with shock he made the move to sit up, but found that it was impossible because of the firm weight pressed against him. Glancing down, he found Matthew curled in against his side, breathing evenly and deeply, eyes shut and glasses knocked askew from having his face pressed in against the American's chest. Their ankles were locked together, his left leg draped across Alfred's right one and curled in around it to keep their ankles pressed together, and a pale, delicate hand was fisted into the material of his shirt. At the sight his breath hitched sharply and he chewed his lower lip, hesitantly reaching out and running a finger along his curls, blushing at the audacity of the action; he had no problem with this sort of thing when it came to other people, in fact he was usually emboldened by doing so, but for some reason this little Northerner made him second guess every little thing he did, every little word he said. No one had ever made him do that before, be it intentionally or not.
He felt like he was taking advantage of the situation, by allowing the young man to remain curled into his side while he ran his fingers through his hair in a manner most dazed, so he gently shook Matthew awake, smiling softly when he finally managed to rouse the man. Indigo eyes were bleary and he yawned, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his glasses. Along his right cheek, where it had been pressed against his shirt, was the imprint of the seam and it was bright red. Staring for a long moment, Matthew simply watched Alfred, expression dull and uncomprehending. Then he yawned, covering his mouth.
"Time s'it?" he mumbled, still not moving any further than what he had, remaining partially curled into the American. This caused Alfred to flush deeply and bite the inside of his cheek with an anxious anticipation. It was only because he was still half-asleep, he reminded himself sharply. That was the only reason why.
Fishing out his cell phone from his still-damp jeans pocket, loathe of disturbing the other, he glanced at the screen and then looked again with wide eyes. "It … it's nine o'clock," he said weakly, running a hand through his hair. "We've been here for seven hours now, and asleep for about six. Wow."
Light chuckles, and much to his surprise and utter delight, Matthew flopped back against him, yawning once more. "I didn't sleep for as long as you did," he murmured softly, scratching his collar bone and looking up to the blushing American. "Probably four hours or so; when I finished reading that book you were already sound asleep."
Alfred arched an eyebrow. "Really? In that short of a time?"
He nodded. "It was only short," he said with a shrug of nonchalance. "No more than two hundred pages, so it was easy to get through."
A thoughtful hum left him, and once more he let his head rest back. But this time, he didn't shut his eyes; he just relaxed there, letting his muscles sag uselessly. There was no good in either of them going back to sleep at this point. "Was it any good?" he inquired, absently drumming his fingers on the table, trying desperately to resist the urge to run them through the other's hair once again.
"Mmm, yeah," he said softly, and Alfred felt Matthew nod against his chest. His face got even warmer when the young man curled in even closer, yawning, his hand returning to the spot it had previously been latched onto. "I wasn't expecting much - I mean, how can you properly wrap up a murder mystery in less than two hundred pages? - but I was pretty impressed by the writer's execution of events, and he most certainly had a way with words; a rather gripping story. You should read it, too."
Reaching over to the table and groping about blindly along the surface until he found the spine of the novel, he plucked it up and studied the cover. A man smoking and exhaling a cloud of smoke. He grinned. "Looks like a good book," he chuckled. This earned him a pinch in the ribs, which caused him to whine pathetically, squirming slightly and then huffing when Matthew sat upright finally, stretching lazily and then leaning back against the cushiony seat, smiling slightly at the American.
Deciding that it would be a good time to sit up as well, Alfred grimaced when his back cracked from the sudden motion, legs cramping up slightly as he moved in an attempt to straighten them out better and get a little bit of feeling back into them - their ankles were still locked together, he noted dutifully, but how he did not know. He grimaced, hand going to his back as he cracked his neck. The smile fell from the other's face and he looked away, wringing his hands. "Sorry about falling asleep on you like that," Matthew mumbled, chewing upon his lip, tugging at the ends of his sleeves.
"It's okay," Alfred said, grin off-kilter as he pressed his back flat against the wall this time. "I don't mind."
For a moment Matthew studied him, expression serious, eyes sharp behind glasses that needed to be replaced and desperately so, and then finally he smiled softly. He said nothing, simply stretched lazily and flopped back onto his stomach, burying his face in Alfred's side, causing the other to tense for a brief moment.
"More sleep," was the muffled grumble from his side.
Laughing outright, Alfred made the Canadian sit upright, sitting properly as well and shaking his head lazily. He was glared at darkly, a lower lip stuck out in a childish pout, and he flicked the other on the nose. "Let's go out and hail a cab," he said. "It's late, and they're probably closing up here soon."
There was a brief grumble, and he thought Matthew was actually going to delcine the offer, but to his surprise there was a sigh of resignation and the Canadian slipped out of the booth, taking the cup his hot chocolate had previously been in. He was unsteady on his legs for a few seconds, but then he straightened up, stretching languidly, rolling his arms backwards to work the kinks out. "We might as well," he said, looking back at the other with a sort of reluctance clouding his expression. Then he made a grabbing motion with his pale hand. "May I have my coat, please?"
"Tch, always so polite," Alfred snickered, passing the jacket over to the younger man. "Must be because of the fact that you're so damn Canadian."
"Oh, shut up."
"Eh."
"I said shut up."
"Eh."
"Bitch, you better shut your whore mouth."
"Eh."
"Seriously man, I'll break your goddamn face."
"Eh."
A sopping wet mitten collided violently and unexpectedly with his face, a face that he really did not want broken, and Alfred decided he totally deserved it for once. Except for having his mouth called a whore; that just wasn't very nice. At all.
Launching the dripping glove at the owner's face, he slid out of the booth and wandered over to the other side, grabbing his own jacket and shouldering the still-damp material, not bothering to see whether it hit the target or not. He smirked when he heard the Canadian grumbling darkly beneath his breath, voice somewhat menacing - must have been a direct impact. 'Passive-aggressive much?' he thought with mild humour, chuckling lightly as he approached the other who had already bundled up, more than prepared for the frozen tundra of a city beyond the confines of the shop. Eyes flashed in his direction, somewhat hostile, and then the other puffed his cheeks in a manner that was no less than childish.
"Don't give me that look, you little brat," Alfred mumbled, glaring good-naturedly at the younger man that gave a disdainful sniff.
"Stuff it, old man," Matthew snarked, grinning icily when the older man spluttered in an offended manner.
Light bickering followed it, much to the amusement of the patrons of the shop - including the brunette with the flower tucked behind her ear, who may or may not have been positively squealing with an unabashed delight when she had happened upon the two men curled up and sound asleep in the booth earlier on.
Picking up his own mug, he pulled on his mittens and removed his wallet from his pants pocket, slipping it into the side pocket of his jacket and grimacing as they set out into the night air. Snow still fell, but at least the pseudo-squall had abated some time ago, leaving nothing more than a snow globe effect in its wake. It was colder than it had been in a long time, and the chill of the bitter air permeated him straight through to the marrow of his bones.
Beside him, the Canadian walked at a leisurely pace, looking at his mug. "We totally should have gotten more hot chocolate," he said with a pout, humming sadly.
Snorting, Alfred shook his head. "You're probably right," he commented idly, scanning the street for any sign of one of New York's staple, yellow taxis. There was only one in sight, and it was still a little bit away from them. He was about to hail the one when he saw it pull up closer to them, chugging along with a caution unusual for most cab drivers, but Matthew tugged his arm down, latching onto it and grinning over at the other. They watched as the cab kept on driving down the road, and Alfred's shoulders sagged a little.
"Why'd you do that?" he demanded, vexed and gesturing sharply to the cab that had just turned off onto Broadway. "We could have gotten that one."
"I live not too far from here," he said. "So why don't we walk and then you can just hail a taxi from my place. Save you some money?"
Alfred whined. "But it's so cold out," he whimpered, pressing close to the lithe Canadian at his side. He felt so warm compared to the temperatures that had surely dropped well below the freezing point.
Snorting, the action prompted by the childish complaint, Matthew gave a half-smile and shook his head. "Try living through temperatures that are -47ºC and then come back to me and tell me this is cold weather," he said smoothly, adjusting his hood with one hand and letting go of the American's arm, still giving him a wry smile.
He huffed spitefully, but said nothing more and just continued to walk. While it would have been nice to call for a taxi, like he had originally wanted to, this was nice, too. Maybe even better, really, when he thought about it. The smelly backseat of a cab was hell compared to walking in the crisp air. There weren't as many people out at this hour as there would normally be, and the bitter end-of-January weather was probably the source; he did not know why people would try to avoid it - everything looked so beautiful. Store fronts covered in snow, parked cars coated as well. Streelights had a sheen of ice covering them, and despite being on one of the busiest side-streets in the city, traffic was practically non-existent - every few minutes or so a lone vehicle would drive down along the road, marring the thin layer of snow on the road. It was unusual to find such a sense of serenity in the Big Apple, but here it was, spread out before them and just waiting.
The one thing about New York that attracted him so much, that kept him there, was the way everything looked at night; the place became a different world altogether - it was beautiful, the way the flourescent lights would reflect off of all the glass surfaces, neon colours bouncing back and keeping everything around them perfectly illuminated as though it were only early in the evening, not nighttime.
What he did not like was how he could not see the sky - stars, moon, the shade of midnight blue that was so dark it was blacker than anything - no matter the time of year. The lights prevented all that, pollution keeping a layer of clouds at all times above them. In Lowell, it had been different, and when he had stayed in Maine for a month or so, on the Cape, it had been very different there, as well. An endless expanse of ocean, sky and freedom. Not this land-locked, dirty-bayed city of more than eight million people.
Sure, they said New York was the home of freedom - where else would the Statue of Liberty be able to reside? - but how could one call it freedom when they didn't have the space to roam outside of the jurisdiction of the cab drivers and hot dog vendors?
Groaning inwardly, he had to force himself not to rub at his face; he really needed to get out of the city, and desperately so. The moment the snow was gone, he was going to get out of New York, even if only for a day or two. Glancing furtively towards the other, he wondered if Matthew would join him for it; whenever he was around the younger man he always got the sense that he felt trapped in the confines of the metropolis. And considering he grew up on the Prairies, a vast expanse of beautiful land, it was no wonder - had Alfred been he, the lawyer would have already gone crazy from climbing the walls with the need to get out.
"You're awfully quiet," Matthew murmured, gently tugging at his sleeve, looking over at him with mild concern in his eyes. Snowflakes clung to his long lashes, and Al smiled lightly.
"Just thinking," he repiled gently, hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced up at the sky he wished he could see.
"A dangerous hobby of yours," came the quiet chuckle, and all Alfred could think was if only he really knew. Guilt ate at him for a brief moment, lapping at the edges of his mind before he managed to push it away.
"Ha-ha, you're a funny one, aren't you?" he snorted, shaking his head slowly.
In reply, Matthew merely bumped their hips together and kept walking, saying nothing more but still smiling. Neither of them saw a reason to break their companionable silence, and they only stopped for a moment to listen to some buskers playing a combination of guitars, bongos and a tambourine. When they continued walking, he did not miss the Canadian's movement to place a twenty down in the hat they had set up, his hand returning to rest discreetly in his pocket as he quicked his pace to keep up with the other.
"Are there ever times when you just want to get out of the city?" Alfred asked, voice calm, his expression serene.
He could feel Matthew's eyes upon him, and he wasn't surprised when the answer was yes. "Why do you ask?"
Shrugging one shoulder, he made a thoughtful noise. "Just curious," he said, frowning softly when he realized they had already arrived at Greg's place - and now Matthew's apartment, from what he had learned from the other. They stopped walking and stood outside the house, Alfred looking at the ground and the artist staring down the road.
"I'd like to get out of New York," Matt said quietly, expression faraway and contemplative all at once. "I don't know if I'd go back to Alberta though - too many memories to face, and I don't think I'd ever be ready for something like that. Maybe I'd like to live on the coast; near the ocean. Maybe Maine, or New Brunswick. Hell, I'd go for Newfoundland if I had to. Something that's clean, spacious, and not a cluttered glory-hole like this place is."
Disappointment filled both their expressions when a cab turned down the road they were stood on, and Alfred decided then that he would grab that one; who knew how long he would be stood there waiting for another one to come by?
"Call me when you get to your place," Matthew said suddenly. "So I know you got back just fine, alright?"
"Sure thing," Al replied, ducking his head slightly to hide his smile. "You sound like my mother."
Laughter, sweet and clear, rang out from the other, and Matthew simply shook his head. "Someone has to, eh?" He smirked a little as he turned, making his way up the front steps.
And Alfred was still laughing when he hailed the cab to take him home.
So this was all supposed to be part of the last chapter. Um. That would have been a lot for one posting, so maybe it's a good thing I broke it all up? Ahah, yeah. I think my brain is broken from the cute though. AND IF YOU CAN TELL ME WHICH TWO NATIONS WERE WORKING AT STARBUCKS, YOU'LL WIN THE INTERNETS~ I think I made it obvious enough. BT
But yay early update. -happy tear plz-
The "Like two assholes on their first date" quote does not belong to me, but to whoever wrote the dialogue in Gears of War. Brilliant job there, guys. Brilliant.
Thanks so much for the reviews and everything you guys! Until next time~