Arthur had decided to never visit the beach for as long as he lived when he returned to his and Francis' hotel room, positively burnt to a crisp. Perhaps he was exaggerating, though he was sure his skin was more than a shade or two darker than what was normal. He had spared Francis his loathing and Francis had spared him his hourly bragging.

Arthur left the room keys hanging on the door handle before he made his way, pulling pained faces as he went, into the en-suite bathroom. He heard Francis sauntering about in the room beside him, most likely changing his outfit for the third time that day. Arthur bit his lip as he gingerly rubbed and patted lotion about his arms, face and upper chest, swearing to roll around in the largest puddle he could find when he returned back to London.

When he finished, he exited the bathroom and promptly collapsed onto his bed, digging a thick book out from his suitcase and making himself comfortable. Francis announced his presence, not a foot from the end of the bed, with a small cough into his fist.

Arthur glanced up over the top of his book.

His annoying French friend was posing, or at least that was what Arthur called it, with his hands on his hips, whipping his hair back over his shoulder. Sometimes Arthur swore he was a woman, let alone letting it pass as Francis getting in touch with his feminine side.

He made a hum of dismal acknowledgement.

"Oh, come on Arthur, please get into the spirit of things, we are on holiday!" he cajoled.

"Yes, I'm all for joining you for a day and night out on the rowdy streets of Blackpool when I can barely move with cooked skin." Arthur said dully, turning a page.

Francis leaned over the bed, hands planted firmly on the scratchy duvet, and looked at Arthur with lidded blue eyes. Arthur stared him down over his novel again, scowling under his breath when the Frenchman inched ever closer.

"Kindly refrain from invading my personal space, Frog. If anything you attempt to do is meant to persuade me to leave this room with you, trying to put your face anywhere near mine won't be the way to do it."

"Mon compagnon, you doubt me?"

"That's an understatement."

"It is not at all like you to pass up the alcohol, chéri." Francis huffed, backing away from the bed.

"On the contrary, after being boiled I'd much rather vegetate here, thank you very much. If that's all, you can be on your way."

Francis gave a defeated exhale, though he nevertheless smirked and paced over to the door, waving Arthur goodbye before he left. Arthur glanced at the keys hanging on the handle before he put his book down and sighed. He wouldn't be back for a good few hours, most likely intoxicated when he stepped into the room to top it off.

Arthur slipped a bookmark between the pages of his hardback and sat up, face creasing as the sting of his sunburn ghosted over his skin. He patted down the pockets of his jeans, pulling out his phone and at the same time, the piece of paper that was in the bottle.

His emerald eyes followed the flittering of the paper until it rested daintily on the carpet. He reached down and picked it up, turning it about in his fingers to inspect the number scrawled at the corner of the paper.

Maybe I should call. Just to tell this person that I got the message.

Arthur picked up his mobile and stared at the screen for a moment, looking between that and the paper.

Then again, the number could take me through to some adult hotline. Or even a murderer, for God's sake!

He pursed his lips, eyebrows drawn down in thought.

Oh, you're overreacting. Just call the bloody number and if anything dodgy comes about, just hang up! If all goes not so well, I could just change my number and never worry about it again.

His fingers hovered over the keys of his phone.

Okay, just call and say you got the message, then hang up. Or... why would I do that? I'd be annoyed if a stranger called me just to inform me they got my message. As if I'd ever send a message in a bottle anyway.

The blinking insertion point of the screen continued to appear and disappear, tempting Arthur to just tap in the number and get it over with.

Stop jumping the gun - I'll just do it and say 'hi', throw in some pleasantries and what not... oh hell, who am I kidding? I'll call and see where it goes...

Followed by a second more of hesitation, Arthur punched in the numbers and held the phone to his ear, anxiety peaking at the ringing droned on. Finally, someone picked up the phone.

"Y'ello?"

The person to pick up was undoubtedly male and very undoubtedly American. Arthur stiffened, mind drawing to a blank and completely devoid of anything to say in response. His mouth opened and closed several times, lacking his voice.

"Dude, you there? I got no one on my caller ID so I don't know who you are, but you can't be a prank caller, 'cause you're really quiet back there."

Arthur finally regained control over his voice and briefly swallowed. "Yes, hello-"

"Wow, you're British? That's so cool!"

He doesn't seem wary of how I managed to get a hold of his number.

"So, who are you, British dude?"

Arthur snorted. "Just the type of manners I expect from an American."

"Aw, that's cruel. But you still never told me who you are. And how you got my number."

"Ah, my name is Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. My intention of calling was to tell you that I received the message in the bottle that you apparently cast out; don't begin your sentences with 'and' either."

"Jeez, sorry Shakespeare- oh, hey! You got my message? No way, I don't believe you."

"How else would I have gotten your number, you idiot?"

"You coulda looked in one of them books with all the numbers in it."

"You threw the bottle into the Atlantic, did you not?"

"Well, yeah. From Florida, actually."

"Enlighten me, which two countries would the Atlantic separate?"

"England and America, duh."

"That alone should be enough proof that I came across the bottle. It's hardly likely that the bottle would have veered off and went straight to Canada. Do I sound Canadian to you?"

"You could be really good at accents, like that Mike Myers guy. You seen Austin Powers? It's hella rad."

"Were you dropped on your head as a child?"

"Wow, you're really mean. You hurt me, Arthur. My heart is bleeding."

"You don't say? My sincerest apologies... ah, I didn't catch your name."

"Alfred Jones at your service."

"My sincerest apologies, Alfred."

"Drop that formal thing, Artie. You can call me Al, y'know."

"Allowing you to call me 'Artie' in the process? Thank you, but no."

"You're stuffy."

"You're insufferable."

"That ain't fair, you've known me for like two minutes."

"Your English is atrocious."

"Thanks. So you got my message, huh? That's pretty cool. You read the actual message, right?"

"Of course."

"Wow, so you're my soul mate?"

Arthur was caught off guard by that comment and stuttered for a moment, before Alfred laughed on the other end of the line. His laughter was oddly soothing. Loud, yet reassuring. Arthur mentally chastised himself for taking notice of a miniature feature, and scowled.

"You don't actually believe in all that soul mate nonsense, do you? You're insufferable and childish."

"Well, maybe I do. Little believin' never hurt no one. Pretty awesome though, am I right? We're like destined to be together. That means we gotta meet up and get to know each other."

Arthur spluttered for a response. "D-don't be ridiculous! Destined to be together? Are you off your rocker? We barely know each other-"

"Which is why I said we gotta get to know each other, silly. You gotta come to the States!"

"I'd rather throw myself into traffic, thank you. How about you come to England-" Arthur forcibly stopped himself. "Or not, because... because I don't know you at all, you could be a psycho or some other dangerous being. I'd rather not end up killing myself."

"What happened to throwing yourself into traffic?"

"You're missing my point."

"Why's your voice all shaky? You get nervous pretty easy, huh? Chillax, Artie. What if we take it slow?"

"Please abstain from talking as if you were trying to coax me into a date," Arthur's cheeks unintentionally lit up in pink. "All I called you for was to tell you I got your message."

"Yeah. And my message states that you're my soul mate. You don't wanna test fate, Artie. Karma could hit you in the face like that. You don't wanna ruin your face do ya? You probably got a pretty face, so don't let it get whooped by Karma."

"Are you flirting with me?" Arthur demanded.

"Damn, I've been ratted out. It's called subtle flirting. I'm good at it, aren't I?"

"I think the purpose of subtle flirting is to not let the other catch on like I just did. Don't ever comment on my face again until you've seen it."

"Ah, that's more like it! I like the subliminals in there, like you're saying I definitely will see you. Does that mean I can come to England?"

"No, it does not. Of course, you can visit of your own free will. Should I see you appearing around London, however, I'll kindly or not-so-kindly boot you in the face and tell you there is no such thing as soul mates."

"You just told me you live in London. I'll book a flight as soon as. You know I've been saving up for a holiday? Probably somewhere like Germany or France. The French have got some great food, really fancy."

Arthur pulled a face.

"But I bet going to England would be a lot cheaper."

"Are you implying something?"

"Don't be silly. If I turn up at your door, will you invite me in for tea and crumpets?"

"No, I'll chuck you into an alley way. You're not coming to England."

"What if it's raining- ah, heck, it's always raining there. Okay, so when it's raining and freezing and I'm shivering at your door, you're gonna just kick me out?"

"Yes."

"I bet you wouldn't. You sound too formal and fancy; formal and fancy people are usually really classy, and classy equals gentleman. You're too gentlemanly to throw me out, Artie. And I'll use my best puppy eyes and you won't be able to resist my charms, so you'll let me in and offer me some of your awful British food."

"Excuse me? British food is the best! Much better than the garbage you Americans shove down your gullets on a daily basis!"

"You did not just dis Mickey D's and Chick-Fil-A! You don't even know what you're missing, with your bland tea and... and fish and chips."

"Finest cuisine in the world, if you ask me. I'll take that over your greasy rubbish any day. Bear in mind you won't get to have any, because you are not coming to England."

"Aw, c'mon Artie! Don't be a meanie. No one likes a meanie. Tell you what, we should give really small descriptions of each other. Then when I come to London we can try and spot each other!"

"In your dreams, lad."

"I'll beg you."

"I'll hang up on you."

"Well... I'll just call back until you answer. Come on, don't be a stick in the mud. I'm definitely travelling to London, 'cause I've officially decided right now, so you may as well. I'll even go first if you want? I'll take your silence as a yes; I'm really tall and tanned. Y'know like that awesome tan you get from weather down South? That kind. I'm your basic American sweetheart, blond and blue-eyed. Got some glasses, and even this weird bit of hair that - stay with me - defies gravity. How awesome is that?!"

"My heart is beating a mile a minute."

"You flatter me, Artie. Your turn."

Arthur paused to look down at himself, clad in a thin shirt and dark jeans. There wasn't much about himself that he thought was distinguishing. He was as plain as plain would show itself. The epitome of ordinary, if you will. He exhaled mutedly.

"There isn't much. I'm most likely shorter than you, blond hair, green eyes. I'll request that you don't mock my eyebrows either, for they are quite thick. I... well, that's all."

"There's so much more, I bet. Besides, the shorter than me part sounds cute."

Arthur bit his lip as Alfred let out a laugh, lower and calmer than his previous, dark red painting his face.

"Cease the pick up lines and flirting." he snapped, although he didn't look as confident as he sounded.

"Yes sir. Say, you got Skype?"

"Even if I did have it, I wouldn't use it."

"You're still mean, y'know."

Arthur continued to talk to Alfred for a good hour or so, before the American had to go and left Arthur in silence, playing with the small ornament hanging from his phone. He stared at the wall opposite his bed, wondering exactly what he'd got himself into. If Alfred kept to his word, he would inevitably end up seeing him around London soon enough.

His...

Soul mate?

No, he still did not believe in that nonsense. Although he did believe he was mad, having talked to a random excitable American that he now appeared to soon be meeting up with. Or, rather, bumping into.

Arthur settled back onto his bed, immersing himself in his book, anything to quash the thoughts of what he would do when and if he did actually walk into Alfred.

He'd rather not contemplate it. He'd much rather have stayed in his London flat, away from the beach and away from that message in the bottle.