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Arthur steps off the plane with a suitcase and his messenger bag. Inside the suitcase is enough clothes to last him two weeks. The messenger bag holds a few files from work and, most importantly, his laptop; because if Arthur Kirkland is going to be forced to take a paid vacation in the middle of the most beautiful Summer to date he figures he might as well use the time to leisurely catch up on a few loose ends and work projects.
Not that his boss needs to know about it.
He’s the entire reason that Arthur is even here in the first place. Very much against his will, Arthur would like to add.
But Robert Theodore Jones is not the kind of man you say no to.
“Kirkland, my office, now.”
Arthur glances up from his computer to stare at Mr. Jones’ back as he walks into his office. The CEO doesn’t need to look behind him to check that Arthur is listening. It’s less because Arthur is - without a doubt - his best employee, and more because Mr. Jones is used to getting what he wants, when he wants, and with the least amount of trouble.
With a put-upon sigh Arthur shortcuts to save his document and stands up. He takes a moment to adjust his suit jacket and his glasses, ensuring he looks presentable, and follows the CEO into his office.
“Yes, sir?” he asks upon closing the door behind him.
Mr. Jones motions for Arthur to take a seat in the chair across from his desk. Once Arthur is seated he waits expectantly.
“Kirkland,” the CEO finally says. “When was the last time you took a vacation?”
The question throws Arthur for a loop. He feels a trickle of unease in his stomach, shifting in his seat and ignoring the urge to adjust his gloves. To be quite honest the salaryman can’t even remember when he last took a vacation. He thinks he remembers spending some time back home in England for a few days, but for why and around what time escapes him.
“May I ask why that information is relevant?” Arthur asks.
“Just answer the question, Kirkland.”
God, Mr. Jones may be a highly competent CEO, but his personality can be vexing. Arthur tries his best to remember, ultimately coming up with a rough estimate that he hopes will be satisfactory.
“I believe it was two or three years ago, sir.”
The CEO nods and turns to his computer. Instead of speaking he begins typing on the keyboard, leaving Arthur to sit in the quiet and listen to the click of the keys and the mouse. After a few minutes Mr. Jones faces him again with a smile.
“Alright, Kirkland. As of next Monday you are officially on vacation for the next three weeks.”
Arthur blanches.
“Vaca- Three weeks?!” He springs out of the chair. “Sir, you can’t just-”
“I can, and I did,” the CEO says simply. He waves his hand to signal that the conversation is over. “Think about it, Kirkland. We have an evaluation coming up. It doesn’t look good on paper if our top secretary is being run ragged like a slave.”
“But, sir, I chose to work these hours. It’s no problem for me-”
“Kirkland, you are going on vacation, and that’s final,” Mr. Jones’ voice holds a tone of finality that Arthur has heard often since he began working for the man. It also means that there’s no way for him to worm his way out of this. The CEO smiles at him again from behind his desk, and adds, “Make sure you get a souvenir.”
Arthur sighs at the memory.
He was given the orders to take a vacation on Friday and only had the weekend to prepare. He didn’t even know his destination until he received an email with a plane ticket to Kokomo in his inbox over the weekend. Certainly not Arthur's first choice, but it very much reflects his boss' taste.
Arthur had considered running away before boarding the plane and spending the next three weeks holed up at home instead, but he didn’t even want to think about how his boss would react when he found out. And it would be when, not if.
Gripping the handle of his suitcase tightly Arthur makes his way through the terminal toward the exit. He pulls out his phone to check the details for his ride to the hotel when the device is suddenly stolen from his hands.
“Hey!” he barks, looking up at the thief standing in front of him. (What kind of thief just stands there like an idiot?) “Just who do you think you… are… ?”
Oh, no.
Bright blue eyes behind silver luxury frames, golden blonde hair with that annoying streak of purple still in it, and a Hollywood smile so similar to the one that sent Arthur here in the first place.
No, no, no, no, no!
Arthur takes a step back. Forget the phone! If he runs now maybe he could disappear into the crowd? How far would he be able to get?
“Artie!” the phone thief yells excitedly, and Arthur knows before even attempting to run that he’s lost. Just like his CEO father one does not simply go against Alfred fucking Jones. “Welcome to Kokomo!”
And that's how Arthur left the airport with a suitcase and nothing else, because his messenger bag seemed to have mysteriously disappeared in the whirlwind of being dragged through the terminal by Jones. In his shock Arthur hadn’t even realized they were standing outside until a much nicer vehicle than the taxi he planned on taking pulled up in front of them.
He comes to his senses after Jones practically chucks him into the car.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Arthur asks.
He clicks his seat belt into place and stares at Jones sitting across from him. Much like a limousine, the SUV-sized vehicle features two rows of seats facing each other.
Thus, Arthur is subject to the full force of Jones’ sunny smile.
Jones blinks and then pouts at him, like he wasn’t expecting this kind of reaction from Arthur.
“Are you not happy to see me, Artie?” he asks.
“No, not really, Jones! How did you even know I was going to be here?” It’s not like Arthur excitedly told anyone where he would be. In fact, the only thing he did in preparation other than packing was setting up an automatic “Out of Office” response on his email.
“Oh! Dad told me,” Jones says, grinning.
“Why are you here then?” Arthur crosses his arms over his chest.
“To make sure you have a good time!” Jones says like it’s obvious. Like it’s just absolutely normal to invite oneself on someone else’s vacation without telling them. “And I also told dad that I would make sure you don’t do any work while you’re here. A vacation is a vacation.”
“What? I wasn’t going to-!” Arthur splutters, only to fall silent when Jones pats the bag beside him on the seat. To be precise, Arthur’s messenger bag. The one he lost track of as they practically raced out of the airport. He realizes that his laptop is being held hostage. The nerve of this brat, Arthur thinks.
Jones grins smugly and nods. He goes back to chattering excitedly.
“So! We’re going to the hotel now to drop off our stuff. I hope you brought sunscreen. We’ll go out for dinner after getting settled and then it’s off to bed so we can get up bright and early for tomorrow! By the way, Artie, what’s your opinion on spicy food? And also…”
Arthur can’t wait for this vacation to be over already.
One saving grace so far is that they have separate hotel rooms. After arriving to the hotel Arthur gets at least an hour to himself to shower off the lingering smell of airplane cabin and try not to pop a blood vessel.
What he really wants to do is slip into comfortable clothes and take a nap.
He’s still considering the idea when three loud knocks interrupt his thinking. The door swings open before he can respond, and Alfred Jones’ perfect blonde head leans into the room.
“Hey, Artie! Ready to go get some dinner?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Arthur mutters under his breath. Straightening out his shirt he follows Jones into the hallway. He’d like to put up more of a fight, but he also knows when to pick his battles.
It’s not as if Arthur fears for his job if he goes against Jones. Maybe a smidgeon, but his days of fearing such an outcome have dwindled to nearly nothing.
Arthur isn’t so sure he likes the alternative, however, because while he doesn’t have to worry about his job being taken away at the drop of a hat, he does have to deal with the fact that Jones seems to like being around him a little too much. The young man latches onto him at every available opportunity. There are multiple days a week that end up with Jones hanging around Arthur’s desk for hours, talking his ear off, inviting him out for lunches that Arthur always refuses. It’s exhausting.
“Are you excited?” Jones asks as they walk out of the hotel. He looks left and right, then nudges Arthur to follow him as he starts down the road.
“For?” Arthur asks.
“Dinner, Artie!”
“I wouldn’t exactly say excited,” Arthur says, shrugging Jones’ hand off his shoulder and falling into step next to him. “But I am feeling a bit peckish.”
“Peckish, haha,” Jones laughs and Arthur rolls his eyes. “I like it when you say words like that. Like, why can’t you just say you’re hungry?”
“They mean the same thing!”
Jones just laughs again. This is exactly what Arthur meant about Jones being exhausting. When he isn’t being a general nuisance and getting in the way of Arthur’s work he seems to have mastered the skill of being insulting. To this day Arthur still can’t tell if Jones is doing it on purpose, or if he really doesn’t know.
“Whatever,” Jones says, waving the topic away. Like father, like son. He drops an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and guides them down the road. Arthur wriggles his way out from under it. “Anyway, we’re almost there! I hope you like seafood.”
“Yes, well,” Arthur grumbles, crossing his arms. “You would know if I did or didn’t if you had bothered to ask me.”
Dinner is good at least.
The food is delicious and the atmosphere of the restaurant is nice. They’re seated on an outdoor deck decorated with fairy lights and tropical flowers. It also has a nice view of the ocean, which Jones whips out his phone to take several pictures of.
While the company may leave something to be desired, the benefit of Jones being here is that Arthur doesn’t have to pay for a single thing. Jones offers up that pretentious black card to pay for their meal and Arthur can’t find it in himself to be too mad at free food.
Unfortunately, Arthur doesn’t get the time to sit back and relax after their meal. Jones drags them right back to the hotel with orders to sleep soon and be ready for the following morning. When Arthur asks what he has planned Jones just puts his finger against his lips and tells him it’s a surprise. Arthur is too tired to argue and retires for the night. It is of his own volition, however, and not because Jones told him to. Arthur would like the universe to remember that.
Come morning Arthur finds himself rudely woken up by a loud knocking on his hotel room door.
He groans and rolls under the covers, burying his head into the pillow. Despite always being punctual for work Arthur isn’t actually a morning person.
Apparently, the person knocking at his door doesn’t take the hint when Arthur doesn’t answer. They start pounding on the door even louder than before.
Arthur swears and stumbles out of the bed, reaching blindly for his glasses and stomping to the door to answer it before he gets a noise complaint. Of course, it’s Jones waiting on the other side, already dressed in his day clothes. He is also far too chipper this early in the morning when the sun hasn’t even begun to rise yet.
“What?” Arthur asks, gripping the door tightly.
“Artie! Woah…” Jones blinks. “Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”
Arthur doesn’t growl, but it’s a damn near thing. He almost shuts the door in Jones’ face but isn’t able to as Jones pushes his way into the room. Jones puts his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, turns him around and starts pushing him towards the bathroom.
“Doesn’t matter,” Jones says, far too cheerily and way too close to Arthur’s ear. “Get changed! We have reservations.”
“Reservations? At this time of day?”
“Pulled some strings,” Jones says absentmindedly, looking around Arthur's room. “Now hurry, hurry, or we’ll be late!”
And that’s how Arthur finds himself walking up a steep sidewalk at 6AM when he would rather still be laying in bed and sleeping. It’s only day two of this three week vacation. Will it keep being like this? The thought nearly makes Arthur ill.
“Almost there!” Jones says excitedly.
It isn’t until he’s sitting down with, frankly, a damn good cup of tea - something floral he’s never had before - that Arthur finally starts to feel awake. And just in time too.
“Look!” Jones says over the rim of his coffee mug. He points out to the ocean and Arthurs turns his head.
“Oh,” he says quietly.
There in the center of the horizon is the sun, almost bobbing in the ocean like it was scooped up and dropped into the water. Tendrils of golden light snake through the waves. The clouds up in the sky fade from indigo to violet, blending into fuchsia, pink, orange, yellow; like a painting.
Arthur sips his tea and watches the sunrise.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Jones asks. His voice is low and soft, such a stark contrast to how boisterous it normally is. It seems he does have the ability to read the mood sometimes, Arthur notes.
He nods.
“Yes, it is,” he says, finishing his tea as the bottom of the sun finally pulls itself up from the sea.
“Worth it?”
Arthur turns to face Jones now, noting the young man’s smug face. It’s a little irritating, though not as much as it would have been if you asked Arthur thirty minutes prior. He supposes he can indulge Jones.
“Yes,” Arthur says. Jones grins, the light of the early morning sun brushing against his face and bathing him in gold. Arthur sets his teacup onto its saucer with a quiet tink. “However, if you intend to wake me up at such a God awful time of morning for the rest of this trip you’d best think again.”
Arthur smiles with his teeth as he says so, and maybe on the outside he seems playful, but he’s being dead serious. Either way, Jones promises - “Scout’s honor!” - that he only has two more sunrises planned for the duration of their trip.
The rest of the day goes by relatively smoothly after that.
Jones really does have everything planned. There’s plenty of sightseeing to be had. Photographs taken, including some selfies that were forced upon Arthur, which no doubt look awkward with Jones brightly grinning and Arthur pulled into frame, scrunched up and clearly uncomfortable.
He catches Jones trying to take candid photos of him a handful of times and tells him off for it.
But the food is good and the weather is perfect, so all in all, Arthur doesn’t have a terrible time.
The next few days also go by in the same manner, though Arthur blessedly gets to sleep in for those ones.
They go to a popular street market and try the fresh fruit and meat. Jones surprises Arthur with a small trip to a local art museum, displaying cultural history and art, which Arthur has to admit was a pleasant surprise.
There’s even one evening spent drinking things that taste like fruit and sugar and go down smooth as juice to the point that Arthur doesn’t realize he’s sloshed until he wakes up hungover the next day.
Surprisingly, not only is this vacation not turning out to be a total wreck, but Arthur begrudgingly admits that he’s enjoying Jones’ company. Jones isn’t even Jones anymore; at least not right now.
He insisted on their fourth day that Arthur call him by his name, and so he is Alfred for the rest of the trip. (Still Jones though when he pisses Arthur off.)
It’s going so well that Arthur almost forgot about the dreaded day a week and a half in.
See, hailing from cloudy, rainy Londontown, Arthur isn’t exactly used to the heat. It’s been manageable over their trip since they’ve been dipping into shadowed buildings and relaxing under awnings and trees. Arthur has even managed to get a bit of color, though it’s mostly pink, but it’s noticeable! He would have been content to spend the rest of his vacation in such a manner if Alfred didn’t insist that they had to go to Arthur’s least favorite place.
“The beach!” Alfred yells excitedly.
He runs across the sand and towards the ocean, leaving Arthur behind at the sidewalk along with the towels, the umbrella and the cooler.
Past the point of being surprised at Alfred’s antics he merely grumbles and does his best to balance everything in his arms. He’s only going to make one trip to a spot somewhere along the beach. His personal plans involve sitting on a towel under the umbrella and reading a good book, which is another positive he’s found on this vacation; Arthur has been able to catch up on several of the novels he’s put off reading.
Of course, once he’s set up and sat down, Arthur is only able to get through two chapters before he’s interrupted.
“Arthur!” Alfred calls.
Arthur looks up just in time to see Alfred stepping out of the water. His mouth suddenly feels very dry, because of course it isn’t enough for Alfred to be rich and have a handsome face. Apparently, whatever higher powers that may exist also saw fit to give the man the physique of a Greek god turned underwear model.
What is this, an episode of Baywatch?
Arthur can’t tear his eyes away from beautiful tanned skin and glistening abs. If only Jones wasn’t so bloody annoying he might consider- No, that train of thought is stopping before it even starts.
“Arthur!” Alfred calls again, much closer this time, and it startles Arthur into burying his nose in his book. He pretends like he hadn’t been staring and places his bookmark between the pages as Alfred stops next to his towel. “Hey,” Alfred says, and Arthur looks up at him. He makes sure to move his book away as Alfred drips water onto the ground. “You’re not seriously going to spend the entire time here, are you?”
Arthur scowls.
“And so what if I was?”
“But we’re at the beach! You’re supposed to be swimming! You’re so pale too, you need some sun!”
Arthur feels his eyebrow tick. How does Jones always somehow manage to be insulting while looking so earnest? It has to be some sort of superpower of his.
Breathing in and out through his nose Arthur taps his finger against his arm.
“Fine, I’ll get in the water.” Alfred whoops and grins. “But, only for a bit,” Arthur says. “And then I’m coming back here to finish my book without any interruptions.”
“Sure, sure, whatever! Come on, let’s go swimming!” Alfred reaches down to grab him by the arm and Arthur squawks.
“Hold on!” he barks. “I haven't even reapplied sunblock yet.”
“Oh, yeah, good idea,” Alfred lets go. “You know, you’re so smart, Arthur," he says.
If Arthur’s cheeks are red he’ll chalk it up to the sun, which seems especially hot today. He looks away from Alfred to rummage through his bag and pulls out the bottle of sunblock. Arthur’s in a good enough mood that he doesn’t feel too self-conscious pulling his shirt off, folding it neatly and laying it on top of the bag. When he turns back around he notices Alfred staring and raises an eyebrow at him.
Alfred’s eyes widen at being caught and he looks anywhere but at Arthur. And maybe Arthur would feel self-conscious next to Alfred and his Adonis-like physique if it wasn’t too hot for him to really care.
“You know you should put on more sunblock as well,” Arthur says as he slathers his arms. “You’ve been swimming in that water for over an hour now.”
“Aw, were you keeping track of me, Artie?” Alfred asks, whatever embarrassment he was showcasing earlier disappearing in a blink. “You’re so nice.”
“Brat,” Arthur mutters and rolls his eyes. He applies more sunblock to his neck and his front, making sure to get it everywhere. He really doesn’t want to burn. When he reaches for his shoulders the bottle is suddenly intercepted from him as Alfred kneels onto the towel.
“Let me get your back,” he says, completely casually.
“Excuse me?” Arthur asks, blinking.
Alfred shakes the bottle at him and gestures for Arthur to turn around.
“You don’t expect to get it all yourself, do you? Besides, it’s easier and faster this way.”
Arthur can’t exactly argue against that logic. Well, he could, but he’s reminded of his first day here and meeting Alfred at the airport. Losing battle.
He sighs and turns around, pulling knees up so he can plant his feet on the towel and away from the hot sand.
Arthur jolts when he feels warm hands pressed against his skin without warning. He lowers his head and tries not to focus on the sensation of those hands rubbing the lotion into his skin. It’s hard not to. Alfred’s hands are big, feeling almost like hot brands as they slide down the length of Arthur’s spine and out to his sides. He suppresses a shudder as Alfred pulls back only for his hands to land just under Arthur’s nape. Sunblock is spread between his shoulder blades, while long, deft fingers seem to dance up the back of his neck, brushing against the short ends of Arthur's hair.
Oh, God, Arthur doesn’t think he can handle much more before he does something embarrassing like groan out loud, or worse…
Thankfully, Alfred finishes before anything like that can happen.
Arthur breathes a quiet sigh of relief and lifts his head. He turns to face Alfred, whose face is just as red as Arthur’s feels, though Arthur has no doubt it’s from how much sun Alfred has already exposed himself to.
“Thank you,” Arthur says. After a few moments of awkward silence he then asks, “Would you like me to return the favor?”
Alfred blinks a few times as if he’s coming out of a stupor.
“Oh, uh, yeah! Sure. Thanks,” he says, passing the bottle to Arthur and turning around without being prompted. He sits on the end of the towel, which is now partially twisted and dusted with sand that already feels uncomfortable against Arthur’s legs, but it is what it is.
Arthur doesn’t say anything as he applies the sunblock to Alfred’s back.
This might actually be worse, because the feeling of Alfred’s broad shoulders and trim waist under Arthur’s hands is doing something to Arthur’s brain. Such as causing him to have some choice thoughts that one probably shouldn’t be having about their boss’ son.
Arthur speeds up and finishes in record time, dropping the bottle on the towel next to Alfred with a, “There, done,” before he goes to stand up.
Or tries to, at least, because Arthur freezes when Alfred suddenly turns around and their faces are now close enough to touch.
They both stare at each other.
Arthur tries not to look Alfred in the eyes and instead turns his gaze up to the top of his head.
The streak of purple in Alfred’s hair has faded over the days from bright purple to pale lavender. The salt and the sun have managed to bleach his hair even more gold. He almost looks like the kind of man that would be on the cover of a few of Arthur’s more risqué novels of choice. (The ones he keeps hidden on his lowest bookshelf away from view.)
Again, thoughts he should not be having about his boss’ son.
Surprisingly, Alfred is the first to pull away. He laughs brightly, though it sounds fake.
“Haha, thanks, Artie!” He caps the sunblock bottle and stands suddenly, brushing the sand off his shorts. “I think we’re good to go! You ready for some ocean action?”
Arthur stares up at Alfred before drawing himself up as well.
The weird tension from moments ago starts to dissipate, which Arthur is grateful for.
“Only if you promise not to do anything stupid, like drag me under.”
“Aw, I wouldn’t do that to ya, Artie!” Alfred claps him on the back, nearly sending Arthur into the sand. “Come on, let’s go!”
The water at least does a good job of cooling Arthur down, and he forgets the incident ever even happened by the end of the night.
Another week goes by filled with more traveling, eating and drinking; and in the blink of an eye Arthur realizes it’s their last day in Kokomo already.
He’s almost disappointed that the vacation is going to be over soon. Almost. Arthur is looking forward to being able to catch up on his work once he gets back, and he’s not sad about returning to his job. He likes the structure it brings and he likes what he does.
It’s just that this trip also ended up being much more enjoyable than he thought it would be.
Of course, Arthur isn’t blind to the fact that a big part of why it was so nice was because of a certain someone. Not that he would tell Alfred to his face.
But Arthur admits that Alfred planned well. Everything they did over the course of the past three weeks felt uniquely tailored to Arthur’s interests - minus the beach; and the getting up early. And, loathe as he would have been to say before his trip, Arthur finds that Alfred can be good company.
So, on the last evening of his vacation, it’s easy for Arthur to agree to Alfred’s suggestion of one last dinner.
Arthur expects them to go to the same restaurant from the first day, or one of the many they’ve already been to.
Instead, he finds himself being led through a more upscale establishment situated on the top of a sloping hill of green grass and white sand. The patrons are all dressed in nicer clothes, sitting in pairs or groups of four. The lights are low, and there are candles on every table. It’s all quite… romantic, Arthur realizes as they’re seated.
The thought sticks with him as he peruses the menu, as well as when they place their orders, and when their meals arrive at the table. It keeps bothering him, especially when the conversation between him and Alfred doesn’t flow as it had been just this morning, or any of the days previous.
A thought crosses his mind and Arthur slows to a stop with his fork halfway to his mouth.
Surely not, he thinks to himself.
“Alfred,” Arthur sits up straight and sets his knife and fork down on the plate. “What is this?”
Alfred blinks and laughs. Nervously. Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever heard Alfred Jones sound nervous before.
“What’s what?” he asks. His eyes slide away from Arthur’s face to look at some point over his shoulder. Arthur turns around to see if there’s anything of interest. It’s just the empty beach behind him, nearly too dark to make out much other than the tops of the small waves lapping at the shore.
“This,” Arthur says, gesturing to the table between them when Alfred deigns to look at him again. “The dinners. The proximity. The- The itinerary! Dare I say it’s like you’re trying to woo me? Romance me? In the most roundabout way.”
He watches as Alfred’s eyes widen and then close. His shoulders drop and he looks, well, rather like he’s been caught red-handed.
“Is it not working?” Alfred asks.
Oh, dear God.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes!” Alfred exclaims. He drops his fork and gestures to the table in a mirror of Arthur’s earlier motion. “Was it not obvious?”
“Clearly not!”
“Well, thank you for finally noticing then!”
Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs deeply. Then he remembers the fact that apparently this entire vacation was one giant series of... dates? Of which he was not aware of. His anger surges.
“Who in the world gave you the idea that something like this was okay, Alfred?!” Right, the CEO’s son. “Nevermind, don’t answer that.”
“Wha- Hey! Okay, almost everything might have been planned like that, but I was going to tell you eventually!” Alfred crosses his arms and pouts like a child. “I’m not some creep. Besides, I was waiting for you to take the hint, but clearly you didn’t.”
“Are you calling me stupid?” Arthur asks. “Sure, just insult the man you took on a secret date. Several secret dates," he hisses.
“I couldn’t tell if you genuinely didn’t notice or if you were just trying to let me down gently!” Alfred yells, and he’s standing up from his chair now. “Did you know this? You’re not exactly an easy person to read, Arthur.”
Arthur stands too, his chair scraping the floor behind him.
“How was I to know what you wanted if you didn’t say anything? You don’t just take people on dates without telling them it’s a date and expect something to magically happen!”
“If I told you it was a date would you have said yes?!”
Arthur pauses. He grips the edge of the table with both hands and looks to the side. His cheeks are flaming, half of the restaurant guests are staring at them. The waitstaff are whispering to each other behind the kitchen counter. God, this is embarrassing.
“I-” he starts, stops, grits his teeth and decides to hell with it. “Maybe,” he says, then relents further. “Yes.”
He doesn’t hear anything from the other side of the table and chances a look at Alfred. The man’s expression is one that could almost be described as wonderment. And here Arthur thought the man looked like he might cry just a few moments ago.
“Really?” Alfred asks.
“Oh, don’t make me repeat myself,” Arthur nearly sneers. “And sit down, we’ve already caused enough of a scene.”
Alfred drops into his seat immediately like an obedient puppy. He leans forward in his chair, and the front of his shirt nearly lands in his dish before Arthur reaches out to pull it away at the last moment. Instead of saying anything Alfred just keeps staring at him like Arthur put the stars in the sky, or something equally as cheesy.
“What?” Arthur asks. His cheeks still feel warm and he’s already been embarrassed enough.
Alfred grins.
“Go on a date with me, Arthur.”
“Is this not already one?” Arthur asks mulishly.
“It is! But, I mean, go on a date with me where we both know going into it.”
Faced with the full force of Alfred’s megawatt smile Arthur finds it hard to resist. Damn Alfred for his stupidly earnest feelings, and damn Arthur for clearly having a weakness for the bright-eyed brat.
He reaches for his drink, taking a sip and hiding his flushed face behind the glass.
“Fine, I suppose I can humor you.”
A week later, when Arthur is dropping a stack of reports on Mr. Jones’ desk along with a trinket from the airport gift shop he’s stopped before he can walk out the door.
“I see the vacation was a success?” Mr. Jones asks, gesturing to the reports that are in perfect condition.
Arthur’s cheeks pink. He pushes his glasses up with one finger, keeping his expression neutral except for a slight smile.
“Yes, sir. I believe it was.”