Note: Oh, Fluffy hasn't felt well this week. She had the plague. And by that, she means her Auntie Flo and not the adorable as a button Progressive lady. : ( Either way~ this one came out nothing how I'd planned it. Mattie is kinda harsh and Alfred is kinda rude when he thinks about Ismael, but hey! It's Cuba and the joke is that they hate each other! XD

I own nothing!

He worked at the Whole Foods Market and damn was it a pansy place, but holy shit did he look good behind that green apron.

Every Saturday morning, Alfred went over his mental check list: ripped jeans, check; varsity jacket, check; chill shades, check; tousled hair, check; handsome self, double check.

Every Saturday morning, Alfred lied to his dad about hanging out with his football team at the 'arcade'. Alfred didn't even think their town had an arcade. What was it? The 70s?

Every Saturday morning, Alfred slipped his shoes on after going over his mental check list and lying to his old man about hanging with his dumb teammates and made his way over to the local Whole Foods where he would scope out the cutest blond he'd ever seen.

He always made sure to bring his wallet. He had to pretend he was buying something so he wasn't kicked out for loitering. Trust him, that'd happened before and he wasn't going to let it happen again.

Ten o'clock, Blondie was somewhere stocking the shelves. Alfred browsed listlessly, searching for a mop of yellow in the corner of his eye and when he finally found him, he would scope around the end of the aisle and watch as the beauty stocked shelves like a boss.

He could only stay so long before he started looking suspicious, so Alfred would circle the store, pushing a buggy full of decoy items that he would abandon at the end of his survey, and check up on his candy every now and again.

At the end of his stay, he'd pull an item off the shelf at random and beeline for the register he was at. The store was never that full, even on the weekends. It was a tiny town in the middle of nowhere so Alfred had all the time he could want at the register.

"I'm not stupid, you know. I can feel you watching me. Quit it before I call the manager and get him to put your picture up."

Ah, music to his ears.

"Hey, sugar."

"I'm not sugar." The other blond scanned the one item, bagged it and thrust it back at Alfred. "Now pay and leave."

"Not so fast," Alfred prompted. He felt so slick; he ruffled his hair and leant on the small counter, smooth as could be.

"Don't touch the conveyer belt," Blondie snapped. "And hurry up and pay for this."

Alfred handed Blondie a five. "Keep the change, sweetie."

The boy didn't keep the change; he thrust it back in the same manner as the chips bag and kept the usual frown on his face as well. "I'm not sweetie, either. Now leave."

"In a minute, you don't want to ruin the rest of my day, do you?"

"I couldn't care less."

"Ouch."

"Exactly. Now leave before I call Ismael over." The blond pointed to a tanned, dread-lock wearing man. His arms were bigger than Alfred's waist and he wore sandals which couldn't mean anything good. "We've been over this. I'm with him, not you. And I won't stop being with him to be with you. Now get lost."

"Hey, Matt, he given ya trouble?"

Alfred jerked back up, fumbling with his chips. "Ah, n-no! No trouble, just leaving, actually."

"Yeah, you'd better leave o te voy a dar algo para que me recuerdes."

Alfred skipped past the dark-skinned thug of a man. On the other side of the registers, though, he blew a kiss at Matthew and winked before dashing out before Ismael could register what he'd done.

Every Saturday morning, Alfred would scope out the cutest guy he'd ever seen, avoiding his lameass boyfriend who probably had some reason or another to be deported back to whatever third-world country he'd come from and trying to win Matthew over to the light side.

Every Saturday morning, Alfred was shot down mercilessly by Matthew who probably couldn't give a rat's ass about what Alfred felt about him and was probably going to threaten police involvement if Alfred didn't make his weekly visits biweekly to curb his annoyance.

Every Saturday morning, Alfred was chased out of the Whole Foods Market by Ismael, the big not-so-tough-guy-Alfred-could-so-totally-take-him- on-if-he-felt-like-it-but-he-wasn't-the-violent-ty pe-so-he-didn't.

And every Saturday afternoon, Alfred came home downbeat, listening to whatever his lame dad had done that morning, probably sewing or blowing up the kitchen, and he would sulk in his bedroom, looking at the one photo he had of Matthew, his blond, sweet, sugar-pie that would never be his.