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“For the fourth and final time, Alfred, we are lost.” Arthur’s left eye twitched ever so slightly, a sure indicator that his patience was rapidly depleting. “Now stop being a bloody pillock and ask for directions.”
Alfred made a right turn and nervously eyed a give-way sign that he maybe-sort-of-almost-definitely had seen before. He grinned brightly, undaunted, and ignored the sign.
“We’re not lost; I’m just takin’ the scenic route. That way, you can enjoy the view!”
“Because housing estates are renowned for their picturesque qualities,” Arthur replied, flat and unamused, his expression reminding Alfred of a cat that had been left out in the rain by its owners who were now expecting cuddles from the slighted creature. “Look, there’s a woman walking her dog. Pull over so we can ask her for directions.”
“Asking for directions is totally unmanly, Artie,” Alfred pouted, picking up a little speed, ensuring they would pass the woman with the Chihuahua before Arthur could mention her again.
“Stop being ridiculous!” the Englishman seethed, his cheeks mottled with red. “How exactly can asking for directions be considered feminine?”
“It just…,” Alfred made a face. “Is. I don’t know. It’s in, like, the guy handbook. You can’t ask for directions. And you can’t knit either, by the way.”
Alfred received a hard whack on the arm, which he had expected, Arthur got uptight when his needlework was mentioned, especially in relation to his masculinity.
“I refuse to let you drive us around in circles all night because you’re too proud and stupid to ask for directions.”
“Why don’t you have another look at the map? Reading maps is manly,” Alfred suggested, hopeful.
“This is the last time and then you are asking for help,” Arthur said in a tone that wasn’t too be question—Alfred knew that all too well. Arthur reached his arm into the back seat and retrieved the abandoned map.
"Okay, okay,” Alfred pacified.
The smaller man snapped the map open and regarded it in a determined, taciturn manner. Silence fell inside the car for a few minutes. Alfred occasionally darted his eyes over to Arthur, waiting for his boyfriend to offer some curt instructions. Another five minutes stretched between them and still nothing from the Englishman.
There was something about Arthur’s softened features which Alfred couldn’t place. Was that weariness or hunger?
And then it clicked. It was confusion.
Alfred spared another glance at the map and laughed softly, cheeky enough to be scolded.
“What?” Arthur almost snarled.
“Sweetheart, the map is upside down.”
“It’s—… what?” Arthur’s ears flared hot and he turned the map around. “Ah, yes. Right. Well. I knew that, I was just—”
“Maybe it’s not such a bad idea to ask for directions.”