.

.

Just Alfred

.

Arthur glanced at the dashboard clock again, grumbling to himself as he tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. He was already nearly half an hour late - no thanks to his boss - and the traffic was horrendous at lunch time; Peter was probably wondering where he was.

As soon as the light turned green, Arthur let a sigh escape his lips and continued to make his way to the school, deftly maneuvering around the imbeciles on the road. It was another ten minutes before he was pulling into the parking lot, shutting off the engine and locking the car as he hurried into the building, swiftly making his way to Peter's classroom.

His breathing was heavy with his brief jog down the corridors and his irritation, and he paused outside the door to compose himself, running a hand through his hair quickly and smoothing his shirt. His heart was still racing as he entered, smiling as Peter noticed him and ran to him.

"Dad!" The boy flung himself at Arthur, who stumbled back a step with a chuckle. "What took you so long?"

"Sorry, poppet," he apologized, running his hand through Peter's hair. "Traffic is awful at this time of day."

"Lunch rush, Mr. Kirkland?"

Arthur looked over to the desk at the far side of the room, feeling the butterflies in his stomach stir as he met Alfred's eyes. The young teacher had a wide grin on his face, his eyes sparkling merrily. "Indeed," he finally replied, feeling his face heat; he really needed to stop staring. "And my boss was adamant that I finish the report before I left." He grimaced.

Alfred chuckled. "He sounds just delightful," he drawled, scrunching his nose with his sarcasm, and Arthur's knees suddenly felt like jello. "Good thing my boss likes me."

"Yes, well." Arthur sniffed, looking down at Peter. "Have you eaten, poppet?"

Peter looked up and shook his head. "Not yet."

Alfred walked over, slinging his jacket over his shoulder as he approached Arthur and his son. "Hey, since y'all haven't eaten yet, how 'bout we grab a bite together? Afternoon class doesn't start for another hour." His eyes twinkled as he winked at Arthur, and Arthur felt his blush from before return with a vengeance. Alfred was much too close. "My treat."

Oh, Arthur was done for. He couldn't stop staring - Alfred really was too handsome for his own good. "T-That's really not necessary, Mr. Jones," he stuttered, trying to breathe through the lack of oxygen. Had it been this warm when he walked in? "Thank you, though."

"Oh, c'mon, Artie~" Alfred stuck his bottom lip out, his eyes widening, and - oh, bloody hell, he was legitimately pouting. "Anywhere you want!"

Peter tugged on his sleeve. "Please, dad? I'm hungry!"

Arthur looked between the two, his son's eyes just as wide and pleading as the teacher's, and he was caught at how Peter had Alfred's eyes exactly.

Oh, he was so screwed.

With a long-suffering sigh, he relented. "Oh, alright! Enough of the face!"

Alfred threw his fist up as Peter whooped. "Yes! Thanks, dad!"

Arthur rolled his eyes fondly, pulling his son to the door as Alfred followed, turning out the lights and taking his keys out of his pocket. "Yes, yes. Calm down, poppet."

As they exited the building, Peter ran ahead to their car, and Arthur walked next to Alfred, watching his son with a soft smile. At the feeling of a light touch to his wrist, Arthur looked up at Alfred, his smile widening. "Thank you, Mr. Jones. Really, though, you needn't -"

Alfred lifted his hand, pressing his finger to Arthur's lips to silence him. "Not a problem, Artie. I said I wanted to take you to lunch anyway, didn't I?"

Ah, yes. Peter had said something about that, hadn't he? Arthur glanced down with a nod. "I suppose you did."

"Then we're all good." Alfred stepped back, throwing his thumb up to gesture over his shoulder. "I'm parked over there, so I'll meet you guys at the diner on eighth, okay?"

"Sure. We'll see you there, Mr. Jones." Arthur turned to head to his car, where Peter was waiting, bouncing on his feet, for Arthur to unlock it.

"Please," Alfred said, winking again. "Just Alfred."

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head and ignoring the butterflies in his stomach again as he unlocked his vehicle, letting Peter in.

Climbing into the car, Peter looked at him with bright eyes. "Can I call him Alfred, too?"

Arthur looked at his son as he backed out of the parking space, turning to follow Alfred to the diner. "He's your teacher, poppet. That wouldn't be appropriate."

Peter blinked, frowning slightly as he turned to gaze out the window. He was silent for a moment, before: "Can I call him Alfred when you become a Mr. Jones?"

Arthur sputtered, choking on air as he looked incredulously at his son, his eyes wide and cheeks hot. "W-What makes you think I'd ever be a Mr. Jones?"

Peter looked at him as if the answer was obvious - oh, the simple minds of children - before shrugging and looking away again. "Okay, a Kirkland-Jones, then. Either way, can I call him Alfred then?"

Arthur remained silent until they arrived at the diner, sitting for a moment, watching Alfred exit his car before sighing and getting out himself to follow his son in for lunch. Sitting at a table, Alfred caught his eyes, smiling brilliantly and looking at him softly with such affection that his breath caught as he returned the smile with a small one of his own.

He had to admit, Kirkland-Jones certainly had a nice ring to it. Peter might be on to something.