Sooo.. This was originally supposed to be a very short story but yeah, I just started writing and then this thing happened. This is the finishing chapter and I want to thank you for reading the story. I apologize for any errors.

Alfred

My childhood tasted like deep fried chicken and soda, like m&m's and hamburgers. I used to come here, almost everyday, after school. I would walk up to the pink counter, tear tracks still fresh on my face, and order as much as I could eat.

"Excuse me, I don't think I heard that right. Do you want 2 chickenburgers with extra sauce , or do you want those sandwiches extra cheese?"

"Both of 'em, please."

"Both?"

"Yes. Also, a large coke and one of those hamburgers, please."

"Do you want a bag to take it with you?"

"No, I think I will go eat at that table over there, thank you."

I would stay in the darkest corner of the diner for hours, and eat, eat, eat. I put up a wall of food around me because I was convinced it would keep the pain and the taunts and the thoughts away. Yes, I've spend most time of my childhood in this greasy diner, with it's faded posters on the walls and the checkered tiles on the floor. I know this place by heart, I can mumble along with the lyrics of all the trashy pop songs the jukebox plays and I can list every dish on the menu. I've been here many times, at this very table in the corner, eyes puffy and hands greasy, but this is the first time there's someone else here with me.

Daisy's diner. 00:12

The person sitting on the other side of the table doesn't notice me looking at him. He just sits there, lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he check his smartphone. Or as he pretends to check his smartphone while actually he glances at me every few seconds. His tie is untied, it hangs carelessly around his neck. His hair is wavy and messy, and he carelessly tucks some strands behind his ear now and then. He purses his lips, blowing a pink bubble and I can only watch as those lips devour the bubblegum once again, feeling slightly dizzy.

I snap out of my trance as the waitress slouches up to our table, greasy hair put up in a ponytail.

"Welcome to Daisy's Diner. What do you want to order?" She mumbles, sounding incredibly uninterested and unwelcoming.

My companion's head snaps up agressively, he locks his piercing blue eyes with mine and I lower my gaze. "Uhm, what do you want..?" I ask awkwardly, staring at the table.

Silence. The only sounds are coming from the waitress, clicking her pen impatiently. I shove a menu in his direction. For some reason I feel nervous when I hear him fumble with the menu.

"Nothing, I'm fine ,merci." He snaps, slurring the words together.

The waitress only shrugs and turns to me. "And what about you?

"Two double burgers and one large coke, please." I say a little too quick, without even looking at the menu and both my companion and the waitress raise their eyebrows.

Two double burgers and one large coke comin' up. Thank you for your order." The waitress drones, slouching away. My companion returns his eyes to his phone and I feel the overwhelming urge to say something.

"Sooo..." I begin, dragging out the 'o' sound too long, panicking inside. What do I say next!? Maybe he doesn't want to talk to me at all? Then again, why did he come with me then?

He raises his head, looking at me expectantly.

"I'm Alfred Jones, who are you?"

The guy raises one eyebrow, looking confused for a second. "You don't know who I am?" He speaks with an accent, French or Spanish or something, I guess. He stares at me, causing me to shift uncomfortably in my seat. Did I anger him or something?

"Well, since we're going to the same school, I've seen your face around a few times. Until now, I've never actually got the chance to talk to ya. The people you hang out with aren't exactly my type..but yeah I certainly remember your face."

His expression remains blank and he blows another bubble.

"It's not that hard to remember such a pretty face."

The bubble pops.

Oh. My. God. Alfred Jones, you did not just say that. I resist the urge to hide my face in my hands. Real smooth, fattie. Now he'll probably think you're some random creep that tries to pick him up or something.

He looks at me, not disgusted or, as I secretly hoped, flattered. He just gives me a sad smile. "Yeah, I'm sure it isn't. I'm Francis by the way, Francis Bonnefoy."

Then it clicks.

"Ah! Aren't you that one modelling kid?"

Francis nodds, twirling a strand of his pale blonde hair around his finger. "Oui, one of many."

I don't really know how to respond to that, but to avoid sitting there in awkward silence once again, I decide to try and converse with this mysterical creature.

"My name is Alfred Jones. Nice to meet you."

Francis leans forward, tucking his hair out of his face once more. "I know."

I'm confused for a second. "What?"

He looks at me, truly looks at me, blue eyes piercing my soul, then laughs. "I know your name, Alfred. Everybody knows your name."

That's true. Everybody knows who I am. Just not for the same reason as everybody knows you. I've seen you with your friends, your beautiful cousin. Every girl adores you, won't hesitate to throw herself at you. You're beautiful, more then perfect and I'm just there, that one kid stuffing his mouth in the corner. Nobody knows me. They know me, yes, but nobody knows me truly. Nobody knows how much those casual unintentional insults and nicknames hurt. My fate is already written down. I'm that one fat kid, popular for the wrong reason.

My thoughts are interrupted by the waitress coming back to our table. "Two double cheeseburgers, one large coke. Here you go, that'll be $10 please."

I rummage through my jacket, digging up exactly $10. The waitress graps the money out of my hand and slams the plate in front of my nose. "Have a nice day." She snaps, before stomping off. Francis sighs and rolls his eyes. "People." He groans, before tilting his head back and closing his eyes. I just watch as he exposes that pale neck, chest and collarbones. Underneath his white blouse, there are dark bruises visible. I decide not to ask about them and focus on my cheeseburger. I take a first bite, grease trickling down my chin and from the corner of my eye I see Francis checking out his face, reflected in the screen of his phone.

"I look like shit." He groans, trying to untangle his hair with his fingers. I want to tell him what he wants to hear, that he doesn't look like shit at all, but some part of me is holding me back. Don't frighten him with your horrible flirting skills again, Jones.

"Well, it was a wild party after all." I actually had a pretty bad time at the school dance. Spend the whole night sitting in the corner, fucking watching Arthur and Kiku dance. Ugh.

Francis chuckles, turning his head to look at me. "Do I 'ave stains underneath my eyes?"

I observe his face carefully, trying to not to be distracted by his eyes or his unbuttoned blouse or-

Jesus christ Alfie, what the hell is wrong with you?! And yes, now that I actually look at it, there are some dark stains underneath his eyes.

"Uh, yeah, you've actually got something, right there. I can get you a napkin if you want to take it o-" "Non, non leave them be." He says, giving me a somewhat devillish smile. "Makes everyone see I 'ad a good time, oui? " He watches as I eat my cheeseburger and I only just manage to choke the meat down as I find myself drowning in his eyes. He then focuses on his smartphone once again.

It is a few minutes later when he speaks again.

"What do you think of them?"

Francis has walked around the table and is now sitting beside me, I can smell a faint smell of cologne coming off him. Francis holds his smartphone in front of my face. The screen shows three girls, Two blonde, one dark. I recognize the dark one as Francis' cousin. The blonde girls have large eyes and long hair, but they look empty, dumb. The dark one though, looks into the camera with a fiery look, eyes filled with passion and a tiny hint of stubborness.

I am silent for a moment, trying to find the right thing to say. "Well, they are very pretty, all three of 'em."

Francis scoots closer to me, an unreadable expression on his face. "Who do you think is the prettiest?" He whispers. "Your cousin." I answer without hesitation, pretty sure that's what Francis wants to hear, and it's the truth. Francis lets out a shaky sigh, face a little too close for comfort now. "She's different," He mutters, "She's different from all of them. She's got the fire and the brains and everything that makes her stand out from all of us, models."

Suddenly, he grabs the tie from his shoulder and holds his hair back, wrapping the tie around it, like a hair ribbon. "Can you please tie this?" Francis whispers, and I can't help but turn a little red.

"It'll get stained with grease." I stammer, stumbling over my own words. "I don't care." He simply states, and leans so close to me I can smell his breath, bubblegum and alcohol.

Francis

"Have you been drinking? I thought they didn't pour alcohol at the school dance?" Alfred asks, sounding strangely concerned. I resist the urge to chuckle, recalling the events of today. I vaguely remember Sesel, a closet and two bottles of champaign.

"Mon Dieu, Sesel. My head is spinning. What kind of champaign is this?"

"I've got no idea, but just drink it. The night is still young, after all."

"We both 'ave a photoshoot tomorrow."

"Then we'll turn up with our hungover faces, who cares?"

"Maman would kill me."

"Fuck maman."

We must've been drunk of our asses by the time we actually were on the dance floor.

Non, if I were completely sober, I wouldn't have been sitting here in this, maman would call it filthy, diner, with this very interesting person. He doesn't look comfortable, sweat on his forehead, wearing a suit that is a little to small. Alfred F. Jones.

That one guy with his 1000 watt smile that always seems to light up the room. That one guy who is friends with everyone, and who seems to understand life isn't all about looks.. That one guy who actually has a personality. Everybody knows who I am, just not for the same reason as they know him. Nobody knows me, nobody truly knows me. Nobody knows how tired I am from looking pretty for the cameras. Nobody knows that I've given up on trying to please my mother a long time ago. My fate is already written down, I will never be anything more than one out of many pretty faces.

" 'm sorry. I'm so bad at this. It looks like shit." Alfred groans, face scrunched up in concentration. His hands weave through my hair, clumsily trying to tie the ribbon, but with such tenderness I can't help but lean into his touch.

"I want to stand out from all of them." I mutter before I can stop myself. Alfred doesn't reply, but his hand moves up to caress my cheek. "I'm sure you are different." He mutters, before dropping his hand in his lap.

"What am I even doing? He mutters, baby blue eyes widening. I give him a reassuring smile. "It's alright, mon cher."

He continues stroking my face and hair, and I watch his face as he does so. His face is wide and round, and his eyes are large, looking at me with hesitation and curiousity.

"Whaddaya mean?" He asks, hesitantly playing with a strand of my hair.

"Quoi?"

His skin looks oily, a few pimples on his forehead.

"What you just said, mooncheh or somethin.'"

His hair is straw blonde and it looks very fluffy, so I run my hands through it. I can't help but smirk.

"Oh, that." I chuckle breathily. "It means my dear"

He abrubtly removes his hands from my face, looking at me with a bewildered expression.

"Oi! You two! I'm gonna close it down here so get out!" The waitress suddenly snaps, and we abrubtly break apart. We both grab our posessions before quickly making our way out of the diner.

The sky is dark, no stars visible. It has been raining, for there are still puddles of water on the ground. I step closer to one of them, watching our reflections. One thin skeletal figure with his hair tangled in a black ribbon, cheeks hollow, dark stains under his eyes, first few buttons of his white shirt popped open, bruises as dark ugly blotches on pale skin and one broader figure, hair tousled from where my hands have petted it, bow tie perfectly done, grease stains on his jacket and a bit of stomach peeking from underneath his blouse, bulging over his trousers. I spit my gum into the puddle, the water ripples and we both watch as our reflections deform.

"Uh my car's over there. I can take you home, if you want me to." Alfred stammers, scratching his head.

"D'accord. That would be nice, merci." I hear myself say.

We walk alongside eachother in silence, Alfred gazing at the sky. It is chilly outside and a shiver travels down my spine. Alfred looks at me. "Are you cold, dude?"

I wrap my arms around my lower stomach. "Non, it's fine."

He stares at me some more before taking of his jacket and wrapping it around my shoulders. "Here ya go."

I can't help but giggle like a lovesick schoolgirl. "That's so terribly cliché, Alfred."

He looks at me with something of a lop-sided grin. "I'm just doin' my job as a hero."

I bat my eyelashes, mockingly seductive. "Thank you, captain Alfred, for saving me from the terrible cold."

Alfred bows his head, eyes twinkling. "No thanks, mister. It was nothing."

I press my hand to my heart in mock surprise. "Oh and modest also, what a gentleman you are."

He chuckles, cheeks turning a little red. "I'm just trying to be nice."

We've almost reached his car by now, a complete wreck, but somehow it manages to look fancy, characteristic. There's a sticker of captain America adorning the bumper. I give him a genuine smile, wrapping the jacket tighter around me. It smells like fried food, and chocolate. "I know. Thank you, mon cher."

Alfred freezes. "You're doing it again."

I tilt my head, confused. "What?"

"Calling me 'mooncheh'."

I raise my eyebrows. "So what if I call you my dear?" I tease playfully, swaying my hips a little while walking to the passenger's side of the car.

To my surprise, Alfred follows me, almost pressing me against the car. "It's just.." He stammers and before I know what's going on I've got my arms full of him and is his face pressed against my shoulder, hot tears wetting the fabric of my blouse.

"Nobody's ever called me 'my dear' before and stroked my hair and-" He breaks down in hysteric sobs and I can only rub his back, whispering soothing words into his ear.

"Hush, hush," I whisper, "Don't cry, everything will be fine."

Alfred screams and wails, rambling on and on about obese, doctors, some girl named Allison,a couple named Arthur and Kiku and bullies, and I just stand there, trying to support both of us, feeling a bit dizzy.

"I'm so fat!" Alfred sobs, squeezing my torso, pressing hard against the bruises and I gasp, jerking away. Alfred looks at me, teary eyes roaming over my chest and stomach. Then, he brings one hand to my stomach, rubbing it. His hands sneak under my blouse and he gently feels. He feels my ribs and my hipbones, feels how the bones stick out. I can't help but let out a shuddery sob. I press my hands to his belly, gently massaging the skin. He closes his eyes, as if disgusted, and tries to pull away, hiding his face in my shoulder.

"Don't" I whisper and I lean forward, placing a gentle peck on his head. He raises his head, eyes filled with many emotions I can all understand and identify one by one.

We stand there and we look at eachother and we understand. We understand the pain and the thoughts and the feelings, but most of all, we understand eachother.

Alfred kisses sloppily and unprofessional, but I feel like I'm shooting straight to the moon, fireworks exploding behind my eyelids. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. He runs his hands through my hair and we are both completely lost, using eachother for support.

Then it's over. A tear dribbles form the corner of my eye. Alfred sighs." I wish I could just get away from everything." Then he turns on his heel and opens the door. "Come on, I'll drive you home."

"Why don't you run away?"

Alfred turns his head to look at me, confused. '"What?"

I feel my lips curl up in a smile, wrapping his arms around him once again. "Why don't you just get in the car and run away? You could go to any place you want. Do whatever you like. "

He grins. "That sounds nice. What would you do?"

" I'd go to France. Buy a little house in a village in the south. Go to the market every tuesday to chat with the villagers. Grow old there, sitting in my rocking chair on the porch, watching my grandchildren play in the garden."

He strokes my hair. "That sounds beautiful. Let's go to France."

I gawk at him. "What?"

He gives me a smile bright enough to light up the Eiffel tower. "Please come with me. I will build that fucking porch for ya. Heck,I will personally plant all the seeds for the damn garden our grandchildren will play in."

"A-are you serious?"

He grins at me. "You comin'?"

I think about maman and about the photoshoots and the money and-

"Oui, bien sûr."

I'm sorry if you found it too sappy or cliché or whatever. I've got literally zero experience writing romance (or FrUS for that matter.) Thank you very much for reading.

Translations:

Quoi: What

Merci: Thank you

Bien sûr: Ofcourse

Mon Dieu: My God