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Where is he? Thirty minutes. He's kept him waiting for thirty minutes. He's not picking up his phone, and now he looks like a crazy person sitting by himself in a suit on a table for two on a Friday night. He picked this up just for today, just for him. He'll strangle him at his first opportunity for what he's done. His ears hang low on his head: an involuntary sign of despair. After all he's planned, all they've been through, he's standing him up. Why him out of all people? Why tonight out of all nights? He sighs into his hands, covering the look on his face. He feels a lump develop in his throat, a contained wail. He signals for the waiter before that could slip out. It was stupid of him to think it'll even work out. He's sunk so much money into this, money he can get back but feels too bitter to. The effort he put into coordinating this is dashed aside. He lets out one last sigh, lifting his head from his hands.
“I'm sorry I kept you waiting. It's a long story. I hope you didn't think I wasn't coming, 达尔林.” What looked him in the eye and gave him those words is a sharply dressed Englishman. His hair, usually at least somewhat unkempt, is now slicked back in a manner reminiscent of one of their more intimidating compatriots. Green eyes gleam like sun kissed grass after heavy rain. Skin is a soft, milky white. His ears perk up over his head. He holds his hand in his. Mere words cannot explain how stunning he looks, neither is his brain able to comprehend it.
“How can I help you two?” Alfred asks.
“Alfred? You work here?” Arthur asks.
“Yeah. So does Francy. I would bring him over here, but he's, you know, cooking.” The American explains. “I told you I worked in a restaurant. Have to pay for college somehow.”
“Isn't your dad a billionaire?” He asks.
“He owns the franchise, but I still need a job, so here I am. Now, I'm the one asking questions here. How may I help you two?”
“Arthur?” Yao asks, adjusting his appearance accordingly, embarrassed by his doubts and him nearly being brought to tears and happy he's finally here.
“I'll have what you want.”
“Your finest Choujiu, please.” Yao says.
“Of course. Do you want to pay for the bottle itself?”
“Arthur?”
“Yes please.” He responds, holding his phone up. “Do you have a charger?”
“I'll charge it right up. Here are your menus. You two dudes enjoy your evening. Me and my colleagues are always happy to help with any requests you may have.” He hands them the menus, taking Arthur's phone. “See you dudes whenever.”
“Thanks, Alfred.”
“No problem.” He's already on his way to the back.
“We have time for you to explain.” He turns to the blond he's had his eyes on for five long years, a longing gaze reciprocated for long before they began dating.
“I don't want to bother you with the details, so I'll leave it with shite traffic and me forgetting my charger. I'm sorry, truly.” He places his other hand over Yao’s.
“As long as you're here that's fine.” That's only partially true. His grip on his hands would still rather be used to choke him, not out of anger, but in a much more enjoyable sense — a bit of pleasure found with pain. That isn't where his mind should be right now, but it's a good way to alleviate the pressure of his next few decisions.
“Oh and I got you these.” He pulls a bouquet of flowers from behind his back like they’ve been there the entire time. He certainly couldn’t tell, but it causes his tail to wag in excitement all the same.
“牡丹花?” His mouth’s left ajar, his eyes bulge at the hot-pink petals, as if each one was representing a moment they’ve shared both good and bad. “Where did you find these?”
“I had to fight a guy to get these.” He snickers. “Not really. Happy anniversary, Yao. I hope you realise how much you mean to me."
“Happy anniversary.” He’s glad he remembered. After all, it would’ve been as if he’d taken another knife to the back if he was both late and forgot. The would–be scar being emotional rather than physical. “Your gift is here. I’m paying for everything, so enjoy yourself.”
Their grasp upon each other is broken so they’re allowed to unfold the bible length menu, clad in red and inscribed with golden lettering, something Yao personally enjoyed.
“Jesus, are we going to pick a meal or say grace?” The Brit tosses his copy from the left to right.
“What you two are going to do now is make room for your drinks.” Alfred sets the table with the utensils, glasses and their chosen alcohol. “Have you chosen your meals?”
“Not yet.” One of them responds.
He fades into the crowd.
“I'm thinking of the 北京烤鸭, you?”
“I'm hungry for Beef Wellington myself, love.”
“Should we call Alfred now?”
He nods in response, doing whatever people do to call upon a waiter.
“I assume you're ready to order.”
“Your assumptions are correct. I'll have a Peking Duck with extra 甜面酱.”
“Huh?”
“甜面酱.”
“I don't speak Chinese, dude.”
“Tianmian sauce.”
“Ohhh, the bean stuff. Got it.” He scribbles it down in his abysmal handwriting. It's a wonder he still has his job. “And you, Artie?”
He grumbles, “Beef Wellington. However you guys serve it normally.”
“Gotta read it again to make sure. One Peking duck with extra... tea-an-me-an sauce? And one average Beef Wellington.” Alfred reiterates. “Must've been a while since you've had anything average in your mouth.”
Arthur blushes, flipping Alfred off.
Yao exchanges a quick yet complicated handshake the American taught him. “How long are those going to take?”
“[The amount of time it takes to make them.]” Alfred responds. “Anything else I can help you two with?”
They both shake their heads.
“If you need me, I’m going to be serving other customers.”
They hold their drinks up to him in an odd replicant of a three-way cheers. The time evaporates in what feels like mere seconds.
“Your meals.” Alfred puts them onto the table.
Yao stares at the meal on his plate, a golden beauty which coincidentally is Arthur's contact name. Well the full thing is Stupid Golden Beauty, but those are just extrenuious details. The golden beauty he's about to eat — not the one he's planning on eating later if all goes well — is swimming in a pool of lettuce served beside 春饼, spring onions and extra Tianmian sauce as requested.
On Arthur's plate is his Beef Wellington, nothing much to write home about in terms of appearance. It's not his favourite British food. It's just a glorified pie, flaky bread and all. He's glad he can enjoy it though.
They talk, they eat and soon their plates are sparkling clean, although there's something that bothers Yao.
“There’s something in your hair.” Yao squinted at a spot that was everywhere but nowhere, placing something into his sleeve.
“Really?” He jolted awake as if he was, not too long ago, in a coma. He searches around in his hair, turning it into its usual semi-scruffy mess. “Did I get it?”
“Calm down. I’ll get it if you hold still.” He reaches his hand by the left side of his head, slipping the object out of his sleeve and into his hand without him realising. A bout of sleight of hand Arthur himself had taught him. He pinches his hair multiple times holding the object in his palm. “Got it.”
He pulls his hand back, still concealing the object.
“What was it?” Arthur tries looking past his hand for answers. “I hope it wasn’t anything bad.”
Yao’s chair flies back, he falls to one knee and opens his hand. “This.” He opens the box to reveal a diamond ring mounted onto a gold band. “My only hopes tonight are that this ring shines as bright as your smile, shimmers like your eyes in the moonlight and for you, Arthur Kirkland, to marry me.”
Silence fills the room, supposedly as an effect of everyone hearing his proposal. The silence lingers, hanging from a thread that refuses to snap with the bones off of Yao’s meal.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” He rushes over and squeezes the life out of him.
If all eyes weren't already on them, Alfred whistles through his fingers, causing a barrage of staff to march out of the kitchen, carrying a multilayered, meticulously decorated cake for consumption and sparklers for effect.
The room rejoices, confirming his suspicions that they were listening in.
Yao manages to get off of his knee where he locks lips with Arthur, slipping the ring onto him to seal the deal.