Arthur's trek home had been anything but eventful. He didn't think of anything, he didn't even watch the buildings pass by. It wasn't until he was parked behind his apartment that everything sank in.

He was beaten. At chess. For the first time. By Alfred.

He slammed his head on the car wheel and kept it there, even as the horn blared and managed to unsettle a few alley cats. Only when he heard a distant cry of anger did he lift his head and melt into the seat behind him. Chess was something that he had always taken much pride in, ever since he had earned the championship title in his 8th year in England. Now, beaten at his own game by and American fool who could barely pass his English exams, he felt utterly shameful, like he failed some past form of himself. Disappointed and defeated, Arthur forced himself out of his car and slugged up to his room where he collapsed completely onto his bed. The Californian sun glared at him through his window shades, seemingly angered by his loss as well. He slammed a pillow over his head to shut out the offensive light. Of course, it was still mid-day; his intense game of chess had only lasted an hour or so, but in Arthur's mind it had been an eternity. He was mentally drained and ready to call it a night, despite that he hadn't eaten or finished tidying up his flat. Whatever. He'd just take a short nap and deal with it all later.

3 hours later he was rudely awoken by the ring of his mobile. He groaned and stretched his aching muscles, smacking his lips to escape the wretched taste in his mouth. He felt worse than before. Grumpy and irritable, Arthur forced his body to sit up and snatch the phone from its place on his nightstand. He briefly considered chucking it when he saw 2 missed calls and 1 new text from the last person he wanted to hear from. His arm was already raised mid-air when the phone rang again in his hand.

"What do you want Alfred?"

"Woah dude, why are you so grumpy? What were you doing?"

"I was in the middle of a nap when you so rudely interrupted me," he seethed.

"A nap? At 7 pm? You should be partying right now!"

His cheerfulness only proved to provoke Arthur's anger. "Get on with it, you idiot. What do you want?"

He hummed to himself. "Nothing much. I know you're all depressed about losing to me and stuff so I thought I'd call to cheer you up. I thought you killed yourself when you didn't answer," he laughed.

Arthur sputtered. "Alfred, how dare-!"

"Kidding, kidding!" he laughed again.

A pause.

"I'm hanging up."

"No, wait! Don't hang up yet!"

Alfred was whining, like the small child he was, so Arthur decided to listen, but did not let go of his irritation.

"I really do want to cheer you up, so let's meet up for breakfast tomorrow."

"Goodbye, Alfred."

"I'll pay! I'll pay for us both!" he shouted suddenly. Now Arthur was really listening. "We'll go eat breakfast, I'll pay for us both, and we can talk about the terms of our bet. So you can't not go!"

Arthur's stomach knotted itself. In the midst of all his pride and misery, he'd forgotten that the chess game was actually a bet and what would've resulted if he were to lose that bet. He groaned again and fell back onto his bed, dragging a hand over his face and through his hair. "Fine, I'll go. But only because you're paying."

"Sweet! I'll text you tomorrow morning about where we'll be meeting up. Be ready to go at ten."

"All right. Goodnight, then."

"'Night!"

Arthur promptly hung up and threw his phone across his room. The resounding crash pleased him.

Okay, so breakfast tomorrow at ten; hopefully Alfred wouldn't take him to McDonalds. But Arthur was hardly concerned about where he would be dining tomorrow but more for the realization that he was now on the swim team. He face-palmed, dreading the oncoming headache. He dragged himself to the kitchen to grab an aspirin and pour himself a cup of tea. Tomorrow would be dreadful.

Oh, and of course, he was out of tea.

To Matthew's dismay, his hair had still not returned to its normal self the next morning. Alfred had straightened it himself so maybe it was to be expected; at the time he felt like his hair was going to melt off. He had to admit, though, as he stared at himself in the mirror and twirled the wheat strands between his fingers, that he looked very fine. He was almost identical to Alfred before the makeover, a blame he put on their twin mothers, but now with his hair straightened they really could have passed as twin brothers. The only difference was that his hair was thicker and reached the tip of his shoulders, and his jawline was not as strong. He even had some freckles sprinkled across his nose, which he had to cover up the day before. Overall his demeanor was much softer than Alfred's, something he wasn't sure he liked. His fingers moved to the enormous strand of hair that sort of curly-cued its way a foot from his head. That had been a real problem hiding yesterday. They literally had to tape it down behind his head. Matthew thought it was stupid, taking the scissors from the kitchen and readying to snip it off, but Alfred stopped him and ripped the scissors from his hands, on the verge of tears and begging him not to do it, rambling that it was a "gift from the Gods." Matthew rolled his eyes remembering. Alfred was an idiot. A rare breed of idiot.

His train of thought was broken when he heard the single vibration of his phone. He habitually opened the new text message.

[From: Alfred]

[Hey buddy just tellin u im on my way 2 breakfast with Artie so dont bother comin over!]

He tossed the phone back on his bed. Yes. A complete idiot.

He took one more glance at the mirror before stripping and heading into the shower. Hopefully his hair would return to normal faster. As handsome as he looked this way, he didn't want to look like Alfred. He was Matthew. Not Alfred. Not anyone else.

To Arthur's utter amazement, Alfred had chosen an excellent place for breakfast. A small breakfast café, located on the very edge of Santa Barbara, was a quaint little family diner perfectly hidden from the tourists and avoided all morning and afternoon traffic. It was a local favorite and Arthur thoroughly enjoyed his one other visit there, but hardly had the money to visit again and was a long drive from his apartment. So when he opened the door and a bell chimed his arrival, a small smile graced his lips. The aroma was mouthwatering, a mix of sausage, syrup, strawberry and cream, coffee and a hint of tea. Sea foam blue colored its walls and effectively cleared Arthur's sinuses. It was everything American and everything Californian, yet still so homely and warm, something he couldn't say about the people.

It was only a moment after he seated himself that the doorbell chimed again and Alfred walked in. Arthur waved in his direction, Alfred quickly spotting him and joining him across the table.

"Morning! Beautiful day, huh? How's it going?"

"Gorgeous, and I'm well. I'm surprised you were able to get yourself up this early."

Alfred chuckled. "Are you kidding? This is like, sleeping in for me. Practices usually start at 6:30 in the morning."

"Oh. I see."

At that moment their waitress interrupted and Alfred quickly ordered himself coffee and Arthur a cup of tea. Arthur however, had become painfully aware of the reason why they were there through Alfred's subtle reminder, a bite now apparent at the end of his sentences. The waitress scurried off quickly after scribbling down their order.

"So congratulations, Arthur! You're now on the swim team!"

Alfred positively radiated happiness. Arthur had to shy away from it. "Ugh, don't remind me; I can't believe I lost to you."

"It's all part of life, bro. Besides, you're pretty good! Almost beat me, but you didn't, obviously," he grinned.

Arthur's anger flared. He would have cursed him out, but they were in a public place and he didn't feel like making a scene, so he clenched his teeth instead.

"Obviously."

Alfred pushed up his glasses. "Yeah. So you're on the swim team!" He stopped himself. "Oh wait- no you're not, not yet at least. You have to try out first, which is where I come in!"

Arthur briefly saw a light break through the clouds and faintly heard angels singing. It took a moment to compose his excitement. "Alfred," he began, trying to hold back the hopeful edge in his voice, "there's no way I would make the team if I had to try out. Everyone would surely pass me up! It'd be a waste of our time." A smile was twitching in the corners of his mouth, breaking through his facade. "I think we're taking you're bet a little too far. You won; you beat me at my own game. Isn't that enough?"

"Dude, were you even listening to me? I said that's where I came in. I'm going to train you!"

Arthur made some sort of gurgling noise in the back of his throat as his hope shattered into a million sapphire blue pieces. If he'd had a drink he might've spit it out- maybe. And where were their drinks, for that matter? "You can't be serious."

"Of course I am! Every day we'll practice together and by the end of summer you'll be a pro. You'll definitely be ready for tryouts!" Alfred leaned in closely over the table and his lips seemed to stretch almost painfully across his cheeks. "You can't back out of this one; I won't let you!"

A silence filled with the unusually calming clanks of plates and low hum of voices settled between them, where Alfred just stared Arthur down and Arthur weighed his options.

There really was no way out this time.

His head fell into his hands as he let out one last aggravated sigh. "All right. I'll join," was his muffled response.

Alfred cheered to himself with a quiet "Yes!" and Arthur couldn't help but smirk underneath his palms. Right then there was a loud clap and Arthur snapped his eyes up to look at Alfred whose hands were now clasped together. "So how does Monday sound for our first practice?" When Arthur opened his mouth to respond he continued talking. "I'm thinking ten in the morning is good, that way it's not too hot or too cold outside, then I'm going to have to give you directions to my house, and then we're gunna test how well you swim, and then-"
"Slow down, Alfred!" Arthur cut in. He breathed in and out. "We don't need to rush into this. Besides, I can't go at ten. This Monday happens to be when I start working, and the hours are from eight to two. The only days I have off are Sundays and Tuesdays."
Alfred wilted a little at that. "…What kind of job works you from nine to two?"

Arthur slowed in his movements. "Erm, just a silly old part time job. What was that about directions to your house?"

Alfred all but forgot about the topic. "I have a pool at my house so I can teach you there instead of at the school. Those swimming classes suck compared to mine since you'd be all self-conscious or whatever, so it's perfect!" He grabbed the little cream cups for coffee and began making a nice tower out of them. "Workouts will be every day, except Sundays and Tuesdays." He glanced up at the other. "Just for you," he winked. "We need to prepare you by September, which is when the try outs are. Since you can't make it at two we'll have to do it at three or four. Sound good?"

Arthur shuddered when he'd been winked at and chose to ignore the question and focus on the small fort Alfred was creating. Without warning he knocked it over with a dramatic swipe of his hands.

"H-Hey! What was that for?" he whined, his voice pitching to a squeal as he pathetically tried to gather the remains of his creation into a neat pile.

Arthur laughed heartily, his shoulders bouncing. "That is what you get for being a child."

Alfred was assembling his fort again. "NO you're ruining my childhood!" he cried.

"And you're ruining my breakfast- speaking of, where is my goddamn tea?"

As if summoned the waitress appeared and set their drinks on the table. Before Arthur could complain she dashed off again without a word. Arthur took note to make sure not leave a decent tip.

But when the Brit took one look at his drink he reeled back. His eyebrows seemed to darken with his eyes. "Excuse me, what is this shite?" He glowered at the offensive item, lifting it with two fingers as if it were a dirty rag. Alfred took one look at it and exploded into a mess of loud snorts and giggles.

His cup of tea was not even a cup; it was a tall glass of something halfway filled with ice and a lemon wedged on the rim of the glass.

"Dude!" Alfred gasped through his guffaws, "she gave you iced tea!"

All of his blood shot to Arthur's head. He made sure that day that he didn't leave a tip.

Arthur was having a hard time finding Alfred's house. He had just been yelling at Alfred over the phone about his ridiculous directions and simply hung up on the American after deeming the conversation fruitless. Now he was in God knows where winding up a strange mountain. He hated to admit it, but he was lost.

Basically all the direction that Alfred had given him was a message saying, "I'm the last house on that mountain behind the school!" Immediately Arthur called him up to straighten out the vague instructions, because somehow Alfred seemed to have forgotten that the entirety of California was mountains, but instead it turned into a shouting match and Arthur ended the call mid-sentence. He huffed at the memory. Impertinent brat.

But it wasn't really Alfred's idiocy that had Arthur's nerves on edge. The mountain that he was winding up was almost entirely shielded by vegetation, over his head and off to the side where the road fell off. Rays of sunlight broke through the leaves and the road itself was becoming more dirt than road. He had yet to pass a single house.

Ten minutes passed and Arthur was becoming frantic. He started to think that he was going to fall off the tip of the mountain and his stomach plummeted at the thought. With shaky fingers he grabbed his cell phone and prepared to re-dial Alfred's number, but then the trees began clearing and he could see the sky again. Around the corner he could spot a house coming into view; without hesitation he pulled into the driveway. He was going to get directions without any help of Alfred's. When he got a full-view of the house though, Arthur almost turned straight back around.

Not a house. A mansion. A legitimate mansion.

The color was painted a classy orange beige that he imagined would go extraordinarily well with the sunset and matched beautifully with the surrounding palm trees. The driveway itself was colossal, curving around the front yard's many bushes and dark green grass. The mansion was hidden from the city as the city was hidden from the mansion; Arthur could neither see nor hear the bustle of people below or the screams of the car horns. The air was clear here, almost clear as the beach nearby. He never would have guessed that he was in California, or even America for that matter.

He did not want to ask for directions anymore. He would leave quietly, pretend he never came and keep the memory of this place to himself-

"There you are, finally!"

Arthur's head spun so fast he nearly got whiplash. There, standing in the home's front doorway, was none other than Alfred.

"I almost thought you weren't going to come!" he shouted, heading over to meet Arthur. The front door and parking lot were a fair distance away from each other so he continued to shout. "Well don't just stand there, come inside!"

Arthur's feet remained glued to the pavement until Alfred yanked him by the arm and dragged him along.

'Of course he lives here. Of course! Why wouldn't he? He's already inequitably handsome, has excellent marks, is ridiculously talented at sports; it's only fair that he's filthy rich too!"

They passed all sorts of well-manicured bushes and bright poppies on their way to the front door. He could hear in the back of his head water gushing; they must have had a water fountain.

"So here we are!" he proclaimed loudly, pushing Arthur inside.

Arthur quickly took in his surroundings as he stumbled in. The inside was just as extravagant as the outside. Right at the doorway was a dark polished wood spiral staircase, one flight leading upwards and another downwards, wrought iron bars guiding their way. In front of him was another level, assumingly the dining and living room. The majority of the furniture was a mahogany color, with granite counters and golden transparent curtains draping over the windows, dimming the room's lighting and giving a sleepy glow to the atmosphere. It all vaguely smelled of oranges.

"Ok, so upstairs is our bedrooms and stuff, here's where the kitchen and where we watch TV is, and downstairs is where the game room and pool is…" Alfred's words all tumbled out of his mouth in an excited frenzy; he was practically running in circles around Arthur as they moved forward, the Brit fearing that he might accidently fall down the staircase. "If you want you can go check out my room; it's up the stairs to the right and straight down the hallway, like right there, or we can get right to the swimming lessons if you want but you must be tired from work and holy shit I forgot to offer you a drink-"

"Settle down, you buffoon." At that Alfred refocused and stood at attention. Arthur was appreciating the kitchen, beautiful and large like the rest of the house. He gave a satisfactory smirk when he spotted a kettle on the stove.

"How long will the lesson take?" Arthur asked absently without taking his gaze off from the cupboards.

Alfred perked immediately. "I just want to see how you swim today, so maybe ten, fifteen minutes?" He fluttered around Arthur for a moment then skipped to the stairs. "C'mon, let's go!"

Arthur watched him carefully. Alfred was as hyper as ever, but his movements seemed skittish and out of place.

'How long have we been friends?' he thought. Arthur had moved to the states when he was nearly eighteen and entering his final year of high school: he was sure he barely knew Alfred at the time, for he didn't have any memories of any specific people during that whole year. So then it was the beginning of their freshman year of college; that seemed about right. Then why had it taken this long for Alfred to invite him over?

"Do you often have guests?" Arthur asked warily, following Alfred's descent down the stairs. As they went further, the light began to dim and the texture of the walls changed. Arthur let go of the iron railing and brushed his hand along it. It was concrete.

"Not really. It's only me and Matt most of the time."

"Who's Matt?"

"Just my cousin. He lives at the base of the mountain."

"…I didn't know you had a cousin." Arthur realized he didn't know anything about Alfred. He stared at his back.

"Yeah, he's cool."

When they reached the bottom of the flight they were faced with a hallway leading to their left and right and a glass door. Alfred opened it and a gush of steaming hot air swooped out and washed over them both, ruffling their hair a bit.

"Here it is!"

Alfred gestured widely towards the room as Arthur walked in. He truly felt like he was in a mansion here; the high ceiling and surrounding walls were entirely made out of concrete, patterned occasionally by a turquoise diamond tile. The floors were tile as well but colored beige and not decorated in any other way. Arthur's gaze avoided the pool entirely.

"Welp," Alfred's hands rested on his hips, "let's get in."

Arthur's stomach churned.

"I left my things upstairs. I'll go change up there." He dashed away. He took his time changing into his loose trunks.

When Arthur finally mustered the courage to return, Alfred was already stripped down to his swim trunks. Arthur just stood and gawked. He hid his own body behind his clothes.

Alfred saw him and laughed. "Do you shave already or something?"

Arthur gripped his clothes to his chest. "No! I'm blond; you just can't see it because you don't have your glasses on."

"Sure, sure," he snickered. Arthur tried not to pout.

Alfred shaved, he could tell; his skin was baby smooth and shiny, void of any acne scars from his teen years. He could clearly see his perfect swimmers' body, every line and muscle in his skin, lean and broad like a runner but not enormous and bulging with veiny muscles like a football player (of course, not all American football players were like this, but from what Arthur saw on the television they were brutal giants and he had enough of that). He felt himself simmer with jealousy. Arthur was not boney, but from years of no athletic work out he was left pale and lanky. In comparison, he was a twig.

Alfred stood by the edge of the pool and put on his goggles. Arthur finally looked at the pool. It was only maybe eight feet deep, but that was more than 2 feet taller than him. Alfred breathed in, then took a running start and jumped in with a delighted "WOOHOO!", water exploding from the surface and splashing Arthur.

"C'mon in, the water's great!" he said, floating around and peeking up at Arthur.

But Arthur backed away. "I don't want to do this anymore, Alfred."

"What? Are you serious?" Alfred pulled himself out surprisingly fast and tried to tug Arthur into the water. "We've gotten this far and you want to give up? We haven't even started!"

He hugged himself. "I-I know. Please don't make me do this."

Alfred bent to Arthur's level and gazed with worry until something flickered behind his eyes. "Oh, I get it."

Arthur breathed out a sigh of relief and straightened himself. "Thank you, I'm glad you understand."

"Oh I understand." His lips stretched up to reveal his sharp teeth. "I get it; you need some help getting in, right?"
His eyes widened. "No, Alfred you don't-"

"Don't worry, I'll help you no problem!"

With that the cackling Alfred picked up the blundering Arthur around the waist, with his limbs flailing in lethal directions and screeching like a wild monkey. Begging for dear life his desperate wails grew louder and louder the closer Alfred came to the pool. With one last plea, Arthur was tossed in.

He thrashed and flailed like a cat that was thrown carelessly into a bathtub. His back stung from landing directly on it and his feet were brushing the bottom. He could have pushed himself up, but he was too distracted by the lack of oxygen and light. At one point Arthur tried breathing through his nose and holy shit did that burn and he screamed and more water poured into his mouth and his eyes stung unbearably and he swore that after his death he would haunt Alfred for the rest of eternity-

And then he was shooting up, the smoke-like bubbles parting away from him and swirling in a distressed flurry in all directions. His knees touched solid ground and he hacked up all the burning water inside his lungs. Still sputtering and wheezing Arthur wiped the saliva from his lips but kept his head low.

"Arthur?" he vaguely heard someone say. "You all right, buddy?"

There was a silence filled only with Arthur's retching cough.

"God, I thought you were joking when you stayed under. Good thing I pulled you out, huh?" Alfred laughed. "This pool is like twelve feet, so if we'd gone to the school's twenty foot one you would've been in trouble."

Arthur inhaled deeply. He gathered his energy and opened his eyes wide. "Bloody arsehole! Why the FUCK did you do that?" his voice cracked, still hoarse and wet. Without waiting for a reply he staggered to his feet and stormed towards the door.

"Woah, stop- dude, don't leave!" Alfred jogged after him. They both made it to the door when Arthur turned to yell at him again, but instead he slipped on his own water puddle. Before he could fall and break his tailbone, or even squeak, Alfred quickly snatched his arms and steadied him. The boys stood, one panting and glaring at the floor and one staring uncomfortably to the side of the others' shoulder.

"Um…"

Alfred retracted his arms. "Sorry. Didn't know you couldn't swim," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

Arthur continued to stare at the floor. He knew his apology was sincere, there was no doubt about it; but that wasn't what he wanted to hear, and therefore Arthur was not going to back down quite yet.

"Maybe," Arthur snapped to his feet, "if you had listened to me we wouldn't be in this situation." He sighed. "I am not athletic. There's no way I'd be able to make the team by the end of the summer if I can't even swim. I told you I can't do his." Admitting defeat was like pulling teeth; he never usually backed out of any deal, but Arthur knew that it would have the desired effect.

"You can't quit now!" Alfred cried out, hurting Arthur's ears. "It doesn't matter if you can't swim. I'll teach you." He forced eye contact with Arthur by grabbing his jaw. "What I did was a dick move so it's my fault you don't want to do it anymore. I'm really sorry for tossing you in; just don't back out on me now."

That is what Arthur wanted to hear. He locked eyes with Alfred and grinned.

"I never back out on a bet."

Alfred's smiled returned. "Awesome! We'll start our real training tomorrow." He moved to give Arthur a bro hug to seal the deal but was pushed away.

"Don't touch me you git." Arthur offered his hand with the slightest hint of a blush. "I'll work my hardest from now on."
Alfred shook it firmly, his smile growing. "I promise you'll make the team!"

Arthur smiled back. "Of course."

And they let go of each other. That's when everything suddenly got awkward. Arthur realized they were still dripping wet and he shivered, rubbing one arm.

"So…I'll go and change back, I guess."

Alfred coughed. "Yeah, me too." He backed away a few steps. "I'll be waiting in the kitchen with snacks and stuff."

"All right."

So they parted on an awkward note, changed awkwardly, then snacked together in awkward silence, and ended the day with an awkward movie and awkward eating of the popcorn

About the people in California; yes, they're all dicks. You all know it's true. I've lived there practically my whole life so I know. But it's still one of my favorite places ever so my feelings are all mixed up! Poppies are the state's flower and they're gorgeous. And Arthur won't be finding out about Alfred's troll for a LONG time!

Thanks for the reviews, I really appreciate them. I would reply, but I'm so shy and I'd have no idea what to say so thanks.