"Matthew."

"Yes?"

"It's 2pm."

Matt made himself open his eyes wider in pseudo-innocence, cocking his head to the side. He pretended to be fascinated by his Boss' fancy metal name plate proudly proclaiming in ridiculous cursive that he was facing the likes of Sir Arthur Kirkland, Owner and Quite Possibly Overlord Of All Creation. He loved that damn nameplate. His boss and temporary foster parent might be "a right moody git" in his own words, but he had a wicked sense of humour most didn't see.

"Yup." Matt said, finally.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, frowning at him.

"Look, Matthew, I'm well aware that you have been having a rough time lately, but you were meant to be here four hours ago." He sighed and closed his eyes in frustration. "Is there anything I should know about? Are your parents harassing you again? Do I need to get the police involved?"

Matt rushed to blurt out "No! Definitely not. My family have decided to deny I ever existed, so you don't need to worry about that." He glanced down guiltily at his shoes, seeing only worry in Arthur's eyes.

"I'm sorry." Matt practically whispered. I'm sorry I can't tell you, I don't want you to get involved in this. I don't want you to get hurt for my sake, Arthur.

Arthur's piercing green eyes searched him, and Matt shrunk down in his chair.

"Alright," Arthur said at last. "Can you take Yao's shift? Yao's been covering for you and looks like the next customer that asks if Yao's a man or a lady will literally get murdered."

Matt cringed. Yao was their cook, a right beautiful specimen of humanity who just so happened to not identify within the gender binary. As such, Yao was not supposed to be up the front as a waiter like Matt because there would always be one or two bigoted, racist or otherwise idiotic customer who disapproved of Yao's general existence.

""Ah," Matt said, because he was the epitome of eloquence. " I suppose I'll get to it then." he mumbled as he turned to leave.

"Yes, that would be best, Matthew." Arthur started to arrange his files before suddenly pausing and calling out behind Matt. "And take care of yourself!"

And didn't that make you feel like the worst kind of bastard when you got people all worried you'd end up dead when actually, all Matt had been doing was being distracted by a nice bit of booty. Well, Alfred was a damn hot piece of booty. But even a social outcast like Matt knew he was being difficult to work with despite all his good intentions - because somehow, somehow, he had managed to get it into his little head that maybe he was allowed to have a little bit of happiness. And there was where Matt had gone wrong.

It was idiotic of Matt to think something as selfish as his desire to spend time with Alfred might have been worth not doing his duties. What kind of fucking ungrateful bastard was he? Arthur didn't deserve this kind of treatment when he'd saved Matt from the streets and given him a job, food, shelter and the only sort of awkward care Arthur knew how to give.

People like Matt didn't deserve good things.

Knowing Mr Kirkland wouldn't hear him, Matt murmured, "I can't make you any promises. I'm sorry."

Matt really should've come in earlier. To arrive into the kitchen only to find it looking like a bio-hazard of a bomb had hit was discouraging, to say the - God, had Arthur been cooking? Yeah, Yao had been up front instead of cooking since they'd been short staffed (this is all your fault, Matt, we're disappointed in your Matt, you have responsibilities- NO! SHUT UP!) but surely they knew better than to resort to such drastic resorts?

Apparently not.

Were those balls of ash in the oven supposed to look like they could be classified as a war crime to feed to people?-

"MATT! How come you are not in on time today?!"

Startled, Matt spun around to see an incredibly flustered looking Yao entering the kitchen behind a giant stack of dirty plates, which Yao promptly dumped on the floor before sending a murderous look his way. Matt cringed, biting his lip and physically withdrawing into himself (like a stupid, overgrown turtle) in shame.

"Arthur tried cooking but he poison all my customers and I had to make sure the police are not coming and stop people from suing us!" Yao wailed.

"I'm…I'm sorry." was all that Matt could manage in reply. And Matt genuinely was, because as much of a secret passive-aggressive asshole he could be on his bad days, nobody deserved to face the wrath of Arthur's 'cooking'. He loved the bloke as the awkwardly snarky fatherly figure he was, but Arthur's attempts at cooking had often ended with Matt in the emergency room with an extreme case of food poisoning.

Yao paused for a second before seeming to deflate, presumably taking in his sincerity.

"Aiyaaaaa. You are too hard to be mad at, I feel like a bad person when I yell at you." Yao huffed, using chopsticks to carefully pick up a sickly green looking…thing, before waving it threateningly in front of Matt. "But go work now before I throw this at you! We are very behind orders, and I think the man at table five is a food critic."

Oh, shit. Matt paled. Of all the days a critic had to come in, it was today? Arthur's little English-Chinese cultural blend café was unfortunately not very well known or popular, and a bad review would probably mean a death sentence with how things were going right now.

…Well, with what terrible food and delivery times would help ruin, good service could hopefully help in minimising damage.

Matt had some fucking good manners, if nothing else.

Peering carefully round the corner wasn't being a coward, it was staking out the situation. Really.

From Matt's temporary sanctuary, he could only make out the back of the customer at table five. The well-dressed gentleman in the fashionable suit definitely looked like he earnt enough to possibly be one of those pretentious famous food critics, Matt thought enviously. He was clearly becoming impatient, and well, might as well face his imminent doom with some dignity.

Softy, as ninja-like as he could manage, he carefully approached the customer from behind. Ah, the few joys of the well-ignored.

"We're terribly sorry for the wait, how may I help you, sir?" This, Matt noted, grimly satisfied, he had managed to make sound sincere despite secretly feeling like his insides would empty themselves out on the customer with anxiety.

He resisted the half strangled, desperate laughter which threatened to give him away with the way the poor bloke jumped.

"Merde!" the man breathed almost unconsciously as he turned to face Matt, and all Matt could think was oh shit, indeed.