It was raining. Pouring, actually, and Arthur was starting to wonder if his umbrella was going to survive the rest of the walk to his apartment. Puddles splashed under his shoes as he walked, getting the hems of his trousers wet as well as his socks—he couldn't wait to get home and change into something dry and warm.

Maybe I should've shared that cab with Gilbert.

The albino had offered, but he'd been acting rather smug and like he had a secret over the last two days and Arthur wasn't overly inclined to give his coworker an opportunity to pester him about whatever it was. Gilbert was loud and cocky anyway but he'd been almost intolerable lately.

Almost there.

Seeing his front door put a spring in the Brit's step and his pace quickened. Thoughts of dinner, a hot bath and warm tea filled his mind; his apartment would be heaven after this chilly summer storm.

Lightning flashed just as he was unlocking the door and he'd barely gotten it shut behind himself when the thunder rumbled after it. With a sigh of relief, the blond closed his umbrella and leaned it against the wall to dry before he moved farther into the apartment, turning the lights on as he went. His coat was removed and hung up in the front closet and he left his shoes on a mat to dry as to not track water. But his wet socks made an unpleasant sound against the tiled floor so he slipped them off and tossed them towards the closet where his laundry bin was stored next to the clothes washer and dryer; he'd get to them on cleaning day.

The quiet warmth of his apartment was welcoming after the dismal weather outside and Arthur had already settled into his favorite armchair by the time he realized he hadn't stopped to put on the tea.

Bugger…

Now would have been the perfect moment to have a lover who would be kind enough to make a pot of tea for him. Then he wouldn't have to force himself to his feet and shuffle into the kitchen to do it himself. His chair really was too comfortable and he probably could have fallen asleep right at that moment if he'd wanted to. But wishing he had someone else around to make him tea got him thinking of Alfred and the American quickly took over his thoughts.

What would it be like to have the tall blond live with him? Arthur imagined sleeping in on their days off, lost somewhere under the covers as they cuddled and talked. Breakfast in bed would be a must, especially on holidays. And kisses. As many kisses as he could ever want from a very kissable American. They could take walks in the park, go out to eat now and then at that very same restaurant as their first date. And Alfred would be all his, no one else's.

If only he weren't leaving at the end of summer.

Well, that put a damper on his spirits.

Sighing as the images faded from his mind, Arthur pushed himself out of his chair and wandered into the bedroom. Suddenly, he didn't much feel like tea.

"Why did I have to meet a man who's only here for a few months?" the green-eyed blond lamented, tossing himself down on his bed and staring at the ceiling. "It isn't fair."

Now he was starting to sound like a whiny teenager, but he couldn't help it. He'd never met anyone like Alfred before and he wanted the bespectacled model around for long enough to properly get to know him. They'd met less than a week ago. Arthur had no idea what Alfred's favorite color was, or his favorite food, what sort of movies he liked or what he planned to do when he finished modeling. Maybe he'd go into auto mechanics, since that's what he'd studied at uni.

I hardly know him at all.

It was an unpleasant thought, especially when he considered that he'd barely heard from the tall blond since their phone call on Sunday. Sure, he'd sent that photo and Alfred had texted him consistently for the evening, which had been pleasant enough. He'd gone to work Monday confident and happy with the way the past few days had gone. But it was Wednesday and he hadn't spoken to Alfred at all on Monday. Yesterday he'd texted him only for the American to be busy. Today it was storming, his pant legs were wet and uncomfortable and he wasn't sure if he wanted to be alone for the rest of the night.

Text him.

But what if he was busy again? The last thing Arthur wanted was to be a nuisance, but he wanted to talk to Alfred about the faculty party tomorrow and he couldn't do that unless one of them made the effort to contact the other. He just didn't want to be a nuisance if Alfred didn't have time to talk.

He won't mind. He likes you. Maybe he's waiting to see if you'll call him first this time. You never know.

Hell. This was tearing him up a lot more than it should have been.

"That's it. I'm texting him."

Before he could second-guess himself, Arthur took his phone from his pocket and opened a new message, addressed it to the American and typed out a short message.

Still busy? I don't want to bother you but…

But? But what? What was he even trying to say? Nothing, he was just typing out something nervous because he felt nervous and that wouldn't help anything. His thumb hit the backspace key until all that remained were the first two words, and then he hit Send. There was no reason to make his text sound as insecure as he felt.

His nerves deflating now that he'd done the deed, Arthur left his phone on the bed and went to run a hot bath for himself. By the time he finished he'd be able to have dinner, then enjoy a cup of tea and a book or watch TV until bedtime. It would be a pleasant evening, and he might even enjoy listening to the rain for a bit.

Once the tub was full nearly to the brim was steaming water, he added in the proper amount of bubble solution and mixed it around with his hand, the other loosening his tie and undoing the buttons of his shirt one-by-one. Bubbles formed and floated on the top of the water, waiting for him to come play with them as he always did. His shirt and tie were both ready to be taken off by the time he was finished stirring up the water and Arthur abandoned the bathroom in favor of taking his clothes to the hamper. He picked up his still-damp socks on the way and stripped in front of the closet, putting his clothes directly into the hamper so that he wouldn't have to worry about getting them later. It was his usual routine and he thought again what it would be like to have a lover living with him—what would they think of this habit? Once a day, he walked through the apartment without a stitch of clothing on his body and got straight into the bathtub. Would they find it odd or funny? Maybe a little sexy? They might want to join him.

Alfred would.

Yes, he knew that. The American had openly admitted it on Sunday. What would he think if he knew that Arthur didn't mind walking around naked for the sake of convenience? He didn't even try to guess.

But the cold was already creeping into his bones from the air and the hard floor so he didn't linger once he'd finished stripping, quickly made his way back to the bathroom and picked up his phone on the way. He'd left it on silent from work, so it wasn't surprising that text was waiting for him even though the device hadn't gone off.

Not even close. Sorry I couldn't talk yesterday. How are you?

So many possible responses went through his head.

It's fine, what were you up to?

Don't worry about it. I'm fine, off work and tired.

Cold from this storm but all right. You?

I'm all right. Missed you, though.

Ah, he'd never admit to that, even though it was true. But which should he say?

Cold and wet, unfortunately, but a bath will fix that. Yourself?

As soon as the text finished sending he turned the phone to vibrate then set it down and carefully stepped into the tub, shivering as the heat of the water enveloped his skin. Heaven, that's what this was, and as he slid down to sit with the water up to his neck, he felt every muscle in his body relax completely. Bliss. There was nothing like a hot bath to soothe the body, mind and soul.

"Mm…" Head tilting back, the Englishman slid a little farther down until his chin broke the surface of the water. In the next moment he was fully submerged, holding his breath for a moment before rising again, both hands working to push his hair back out of his face. His face tingled with the lingering warmth and he almost didn't notice when his phone buzzed, too busy enjoying the first moments of his bath. But he was too glad to be talking to Alfred to ignore it, so he picked up the phone once more.

Enjoying the storm. Feliks and Toris hate it, but I kind of love lightning. And do you take baths all the time or do you just like talking to me during them?

Alfred's question put a little bit of a blush on the Brit's cheeks and he actually took a moment to think about it before replying.

Storms can be fascinating. As for the baths…I'd have to say it's a combination.

The first thing to do would be to wash his hair. That was always first and Arthur wasted no time in lathering shampoo into the golden locks that were almost brown while wet. It was his favorite, scented like spice and mint, a combination that sounded odd but was really rather wonderful and helped to relax him even further. All of his bathing products were the same, as was his deodorant. Simply put, Arthur loved that smell and didn't want to ruin it by adding something else.

Next came the bar of soap, which he rubbed over his skin and especially in those places that got particularly dirty or required extra care. Then he ducked under the water again, hands working through his hair to rinse out the majority of the shampoo; he'd get the rest of it when he was ready to get out and rinsed off. For now, he would relax and enjoy the water and the bubbles until his stomach decided it was time for dinner.

I'll take that as a compliment. So, what'd you wanna talk about?

Even in his texts, Alfred's American accent was clear.

The faculty party tomorrow, if you're still interested in going with me.

Of course I am! No way would I miss out on a second date with you.

He couldn't help but chuckle at the apparent enthusiasm and feel a little flattered. Alfred was looking forward to seeing him.

I'm glad to hear it. The party's semi-formal so nice slacks and a button down would be best, and a tie if you'd like. Do you still want to pick me up?

Yep. 7:30 on the dot.

Perfect. There will be quite a few people attending, though I only know one or two well enough to call them friends. They're looking forward to meeting you.

So you've been talking about me.

Oops. He hadn't really meant to tell him that, but it was too late to take it back. Besides, the
American didn't sound angry, he sounded amused, and Arthur wasn't about to pass up a chance to flirt a little.

Should I not? I thought you'd be flattered to have me brag about you.

Oh, I am. Believe me. But I'm curious about what you said about me.

Not much. I wanted you to be a surprise.

That makes me sound like some sort of trophy date.

At this rate, he was going to enjoy texting Alfred a great deal more than he was enjoying his bath, and that was saying something.

Maybe you are.

Showing me off to make your coworkers jealous, huh?

No, but I certainly wouldn't mind if that were a side effect.

I'll do my best then, Boss.

Good boy

He almost sent it but caught himself at the last moment, considered how that text sounded, then slowly deleted it. Calling Alfred "good boy" might be taking things a little too far and he didn't want to be the one to mess up what they had going. It was too much fun to banter and flirt with the American.

I'm sure you'll be perfect.

Aw, you're making me blush. You know, I'm still waiting to read some of those poems of yours, and to see those tattoos.

Oh, bugger. He'd forgotten about that.

I only have one tattoo.

Now, at least. He'd had several, but gotten them removed once he'd grown out of his punk phase and been looking to enter the world of business as a professional. No bank would hire someone with piercings and tattoos all over, like he'd been for those years. God, his brothers had hated it, but without real parents to tell him no, Arthur had done whatever he wanted to his body. Only a few traces of his rebellious youth lasted into his adult life.

Ya gonna tell me what it is?

No. I'm not telling you where, either.

Awww, you're no fun, Artie. Can I guess?

If you want, but don't expect me to tell you if you get it right.

Jeez, someone's cranky. All right…a dragon.

Close.

Not quite.

Snake?

Nope.

Griffin.

Wrong again.

Union Jack? At least tell me if it's a symbol or an animal or whatever.

Well…he supposed he could take pity on the poor man. At least this once.

It's an animal.

Cool. Tiger?

No, keep trying.

This was surprisingly fun, especially since Alfred probably wouldn't guess the right creature because he didn't know enough about British culture. Arthur's tattoo was a customized version of a traditional design, one that he was too proud of to abandon for the sake of a job. Besides, it wasn't where anyone would see it unless he wanted them to.

A buck.

A what?

You know, male deer? Antlers?

Oh, you mean a stag. No.

Damn it. I'm out of ideas so let's come back to that. What about your piercings?

The change in subject made Arthur chuckle and he took a moment to shift around in the tub before replying. He really hadn't expected to enjoy this so much.

Honestly, Alfred, if I wouldn't tell you about my tattoo, why would I tell you about my piercings?

Because I'm a poor American tourist trying to get to know the sexy British man who stole my heart?

Really, now. That was a corny line even for Alfred. Amused, Arthur set his phone aside and began draining the tub. His stomach was starting to complain and that meant it was time to rinse, dry off and dress so he could have supper. It only took him a few minutes to rinse the shampoo and soap from his body, then he wrapped himself in a towel to ward off the cold and went into the bedroom in search of clothes. Drying off and dressing was another five minutes or so, and by then his stomach was outright growling at him.

Humming, the Brit retrieved his phone and contemplated how to respond as he wandered into the kitchen and set out preparing himself something to eat. There were frozen meals in the freezer, but he wasn't particularly interested in any of those. The storm outside had put him in the mood for soup, so he settled on tomato soup with grilled cheese—the perfect combination. As the soup warmed on the stove and the griddle warmed up, he got out what he'd need for the sandwich then leaned against the counter to wait, phone in hand.

I can't believe you just said that.

But it's true.

You're not poor, I'm hardly qualified to be called "sexy" and you haven't known me long enough for me to have stolen your heart.

Oh come on, Artie. You have to know how attractive you are.

No, actually, I don't.

Bread with butter on one side was placed on the griddle then layered with cheese before another half buttered slice of bread was placed on top; he'd let it turn the perfect shade of golden brown before taking it off.

Well you are. Sexy, I mean.

Did Alfred really mean that? Arthur wanted to believe him—he had no reason to think of the American as a liar—but he'd heard the opposite so many times that he almost had to laugh at the thought of anyone, especially someone like Alfred, considering him to be genuinely sexy. It just wasn't a word that people used to describe him.

I'm flattered that you think so.

It was the politest response he could think of that neither denied nor accepted the compliment. He couldn't accept it if he didn't believe it, but he didn't want to deny it and sound like he didn't care for Alfred's opinion. The tall blond's opinion meant a great deal to him and he was glad Alfred thought he was attractive. But sexy was a little much for him to accept so easily.

You don't believe me, but I mean it. I wasn't kidding when I called you the handsomest man in all of London.

Great, now he was blushing. He was standing alone in his apartment watching his grilled cheese sandwich cook, and he was blushing. Brilliant.

I really am flattered, it's just going to take some getting used to, having someone think that.

I'll tell you every day if I have to, Artie.

Wait…did his heart just flutter? Was his pulse quickening?

He means it. He really thinks I'm handsome and sexy.

Not for the first time, gratitude for this American who had so unexpectedly walked into his life overwhelmed him and Arthur felt tears beginning to form. It was just like in the tea shop when Alfred had promised that everyone who had ever called him "unpleasant things" was wrong. He wished the blond was there so he could thank him properly, or maybe just hug him—his throat was tightening so he wasn't sure he'd have been able to get the words out. A text was just going to have to be good enough.

You don't have to, but it means a lot to me for you to say that.

I'm glad.

Arthur couldn't think of anything to say to that, at least not at the moment. He was barely managing to hold his emotions in check as it was and knew that if they continued on this topic then he would start crying and wouldn't be able to stop for who knew how long. Besides, his sandwich was ready, as was his soup, and his stomach had been growling almost constantly since he'd gotten out of the bath. For now he would eat, and come up with something to say afterwards. The distraction would give him time to think, at any rate.

What did I ever do to deserve for someone like Alfred to come into my life?