Chapter Text
You’d met Alfred only about 2 years ago, having been introduced by a mutual friend at a party. What had stood out to you most about him, secondary to his signature instant amicability, was the guy’s stupid grin. As he’d been walked up to you, blue eyes appraising in a manner you’d only recall as appreciative, his mouth dropped open into a wide smile. You weren’t an extroverted person necessarily, and the attention from a person who radiated such joy was a pleasure for you.
By this time in your life, you were approaching the hardest point of med school, and you’d come to this party to unwind. Late nights, early mornings, falling asleep on expensive textbooks, had led you to becoming a sort of recluse. You were always a friendly person, but learning how to not kill someone before whatever was wrong with them killed them first, took a toll on how you interacted. A friend from college had reached out, a tad concerned about your academic dedication. After a long text conversation, you were convinced by the idea of getting messy drunk with a good friend, and being able to unwind.
You supposed you were grateful, having something other than a test date to look forward to. You were sick of the Kreb’s cycle, and you thought a house party could bring you some joy.
It was summer, now, and your social savior’s apartment was on the first floor and had the cutest little yard. Knowing this, you planned on jean shorts, flip flops, a slim t-shirt, and a bouncy ponytail. You thought having a pleasant appearance otherwise might distract from the dark circles no amount of concealer could confine.
The day of, you took a long, burning hot shower. You’d woken up by alarm, of course, no longer reliant on a circadian rhythm due to forever-changing hospital shifts and classroom work. After drying off, you slathered your favorite lotion over every spot of your skin, wanting to feel as smooth as a baby. You applied some quick makeup, knowing full well you’d sweat it off by the end of the evening anyway. Your friend calls you, mid-powder, and you pick up after letting it buzz for a second or two. You really did enjoy the song you’d set your ringtone to, and only felt a little bad about making people wait.
“Hey sleepyhead!!,” your friend, Sarah, opens with.
“You coming tonight? I’m buying your fave, vodka lemonadesss~!,” she continues, and you smile a little, sandwiching your cell between your shoulder and ear.
“Of course I am. I couldn’t stand to let you down! I’ll start leaving soon, ‘kay?,” you respond, content.
“You better!!! I’ll see you then, cutie!,” and she hangs up.
You sigh, brushing off the extra product, and attempting to steel your nerves for the night ahead. You’d really lost the intricacies of party going ober these last 4 years of graduate school, you felt, and you’d hoped you didn’t make such a big fool of yourself. Not that it mattered, you thought, because you had a stupidly small chance of encountering any other guests you’d meet again.
. . .
You’d walked to Sarah’s, as her place wasn’t more than a half hour walk. It had just hit sunset by the time you arrived, and you rocked on your heels after rapping your knuckles against the door. You had come a couple hours after the “official” start, but you supposed it was better late than never. She’d opened the door, radiating all of her beauty as she beamed at you, not hesitating before crushing you in a hug. You more than happily reciprocated, holding ber tightly.
After getting through all of the normal introductory pleasantries, she’d brought you in and gotten you settled with your promised vidka lemonade. She’d ushered you outside, to her concrete patio. It had dark moss spots, cracks, and sun-bleached areas, but you supposed they’d blend in as the sun continued to set. She also had thick grass, which seemed to have flourished out of pure neglect. You found it to be a little funny, how life worked out in sweet, small ways.
You situated yourself in an old, white lawnchair, pressed against the side of the two-flat, with a matching white table separating another weathered chair. You allowed yourself to just observe the party, which was quite large, appreciating the way her string lights relected off of the sunglasses perched on people’s heads. She had soft music playing, mostly lyricless, but you supposed she would turn on the harder stuff once most conversations died down.
Sighing, you crossed your legs, and shut your eyes. When you opened them again, you were surprised to see your friend, and an extremely attractive man you assumed to be your age approaching you.
Uncrossing your legs, you set down your half-empty can, and wiped off the condensation it’d produced onto your shorts. You extended your hand, and smiled kindly. He was wearing an attractive red polo, with a cute blue stripe bordered by two thinner white ones, that hugged his capped shoulders and athletic figure well. He was also wearing some khaki cargo shorts, and flip flops similar to your own. He was grinning already as he looked you up and down, and your heart began to flutter.
Reaching out your right hand, you shake his. You’re not a short person by any means, but something about his overwhelming positivity seemed to dwarf you. His palm was moist, but you didn’t find yourself particularly caring. It took a solid twenty or so seconds of strong eye contact before your friend, obviously pleased by this instant connection, cleared her throat. You drew back your hand, in an almost flinching moment.
“So, (Y/n), this is my good friend, Alfred F. Jones. He’s a lawyer,” Sarah begins. Alfred, you learn, scratches his neck bashfully and smiles again.
“Yeah, dude, totally! I’m also uh, running for governer, hah! Stupid, right??,” he blabs, and you shake your head.
“Not stupid at all, Alfred! That’s sick! I’ll be voting for you, for sure!,” you reassure him, putting your hand up in a mock salute. This makes him smile again, and you feel like a string attached to your lowest intestine knots and tugs on itself.
You clear your throat, attempting to recover. Your friend finishes her introduction with a knowing smile.
“And, Alfred, this is soon to be Dr. (Y/n) (L/n), and she’s currently a medical school student. I thought you two might want to meet, you’d make a really cute-,”
Your suddenly-wide eyes cut her off, and she grins, leaving you two to be.
“So…,” he laughs again, ruffling his hair and rocking back on his heels.
You both attempt to speak again, but manage to start at the exact same time. You awkwardly cough, and you notice a blush spread from his ears to his soft cheekbones. He adjusts his glasses, pushing them up on his face. It makes you wonder what his eyes would look like without them on, up close, and you just end up flustering yourself again.
Resigning to your shared social inability, you gesture for one of the white plastic chairs. He gratefully accepts, but instead of sitting with the matching table separating you, he decides to pull the chair over to yours. It makes a horrific sound, grinding against the concrete, but that still fails to snap you out of the dream you feel like you’ve fallen in.
Sitting down, he begins to talk again.
“So, medical school, huh? That’s a lot of studying for a babe like you!,” he laughs, like he didn’t just make your underwear that much wetter.
You nod bashfully.
“Yes, it’s a lot, but it’s totally worth it!! You wouldn’t want your doctor not to know what they’re doing, right? Same way you’d hope your lawyer studies the law,” you tease, and he laughs loudly.
“Oh well, it’s not that hard for an awesome guy like me! I only hit the books for like, an hour a day, especially because I’m so busy working on my kick-ass campaign!! I mean like, it’s already obvious I’m gonna beat the other guy, HA HA HA!,” he says, with the eloquence of someone who doesn’t use utensils for spaghetti. You’re, unfortunately, extremely into it.
Blushing and giggling, you subconsciously lean into him, slapping his bicep.
“Oh, Alfred, of course you’ll win, who couldn’t vote for a hottie like you??,” you blab, not really thinking.
You immediately regret this, as he stares at you, open-mouthed for a moment. It’s silent, save for the soft, low-level music permeating from the speaker. Your eyes flick down, watching the rise and fall of his chest through his shirt. Like a pervert. You only realize once it’s been a minute, his eyes are glued on yours, and you cough into your hand, diverting your gaze as you cross your legs.
“Excuse me, haha, my allergies are really acting up!,” you use as a lame excuse, but he seems to buy it. He’s still looking at you intensely, but you disregard it, returning your attention to your drink and people watching. Your friend is on fire, moving between each group of people, and positively lighting them up.
You two had become friends on a whim really, having met initially in middle school. You’d moved away, but reunited in college. She had always been a social butterfly, and you swore as long as you’d live you would recall her winning smile. Not many people could unite as many interests and individuals with the ease she did.
You recalled summers on her back porch, laughing into the night about so and so’s new haircut, or lamenting about the math packet you’d both yet to start. She was a sort of calm and peace in your life, and you felt like no one could be as light and airy as her. You felt overly grateful for her, she’d been a steady constant you don’t know if you could really let go again.
Alfred just sat silently beside you, admiring your side profile as you thought. After quite a while, he speaks.
“So, pretty girl, whatcha thinking about?,” he asks, softly. The tone of his voice makes you jump a bit, and you whip your head to face him.
“U-uhm… nothing, really. Just spacing out, haha,” you attempt to play off your severe attraction, shrugging and relaxing back into your chair. It ends up brushing your shoulders together, and you force yourself not to react.
“Well, I’m thinking that maybe someone should turn on some music and start dancing! It’s almost dark, AKA, the best time of day to dance,” he reasons. He sounds so stupid, you can’t help but be endeared by him. This is the guy running for governor?? You sigh to yourself.
You spare him a smile regardless, and just as you’re about to respond, your lovely host has already seemed to anticipate this vibe-change, turning on some Britney Spears. He lights up, and you swear it makes you want him that much more. Alfred stands up first, and offers you his still-clammy hand.
You take it gratefully, standing up to face him. He’s enthralled with your face again, just looking at you, frozen, slightly slumped over. It serves to make you more nervous, and you giggle to try and ease your fluttering guts.
Pointing to the grassy lawn, you almost whisper, “shall we head to the… ahem, dance floor?”
He nods, and seems to have to try very hard to peel his eyes off of you, holding your hand with a lot of restraint, in his sweaty one, the sound of sandals smacking against heels being the only sound you hear over your hummingbird-heart as you both continue to the grass. Everyone has also begun to dance, alleviating some of your usual nerves.
His bright blue eyes are trained on yours through his glasses, and you both dance to whatever 20-year-old club classics CDs your friend stuck into her boombox. He can’t help but watch the way you move, dancing with not only him but with your host and some of the other guests.
As the night goes on, your friend eventually brings out a slow album. It’s a younger woman, crooning over a string ensemble, and everyone pairs up, regardless of relationship. Most are friends. Despite what they are to each other, no one shares a closer proximity than you and Alfred do. Even in the low light, you make out his adorable freckles, and slight stubble.
His hands are burning on your waist, and you can only assume he has the same sensation where your arms are folded against his neck. You sway, side to side, and you find yourself thinking that you’d really like to kiss his heat-flushed lips.
You hold this thought in the front of your mind for the rest of the night, and by 1 o’clock you’d given up dancing in the pursuit of getting totally hammered. It was quite awkward, the manner you and Alfred had peeled yourselves away from eachother in. Another old friend of yours had approached you both, asking for a dance. You had obliged, giving Alfred an apologetic stare.
Obviously, you hadn’t gotten nearly as close to this guy, maintaining a respectable distance, but that didn’t stop it from hurting Alfred’s feelings any less.
Now, you both were separated and glum. The party had moved back inside, as the mosquitoes became too much to bear. You were in the kitchen, downing as many drinks as you could, in between conversation. He was on the couch, tucked around the arm of it, nursing his third beer as he looked forlornly at you. You tried to ignore it, but by 2, you were so drunk you’d had no choice but to sit down.
Of course, he had puppy-eyed you again, and looked to the open cushion beside him. You all but fell onto the seat, your legs failing you. Ending up nestled against him, with his arm on the couch behind you, you felt a little compromised. Well, more like your sober subconscious felt so. You, in the current moment, had finished an 8-pack of vodka lemonades by yourself, so you had very few thoughts surrounding your public appearance.
His warmth was almost unbearable, but you continued to cozy up next to him. He was far more sober than you, and had half a mind to scooch you off. However, seeing you sleepily look up at him, he felt like maybe it wasn’t necessary.
The night continues to stretch on, similar to the way his pants are forced to, with the effect you have on him. You’re unaware of this, as you nuzzle your cheek into his chest. He didn’t think his spine could get as straight as it did, and his eyes are dead set on the back of your head as you treat him as a pillow.
Drawing your legs up onto the couch, you cuddle against Alfred, and he attempts at a weak protest.
“U-uhm, hey, (Y/n)…,” he trails off, at a total loss for words when your head falls in his lap. Now what is he supposed to do!? Obviously flustered, he looks around. Your friend is grinning madly, and shakes her head slowly at the spectacle. Most of the other guests are also giggling at his helpless expression. You’re unbothered, curling up into your new heating pad.
His firm stomach is pleasurable to rest your face against, and your breathing begins to slow. Everyone else is just quietly giggling, and Alfred continues to look about.
Finally, he hesitantly places his hand between your shoulder blades, and begins to try dhaking you awake. You don’t respond for a good, long moment, just pressing closer to him.
“Hey, (Y/n),” he says, in a choked voice, “wake up… please…”
It takes a solid minute of his shaking before you sit up, yawning. Your mascara has smudged below your eye, but otherwise you’re still intact.
It takes you a moment to take in Alfred as he is before you. Pink face, heaving chest, pressed into the couch.
“Are you alright??,” you slur.
He gawks at you, and just sighs, mostly bemused.
“No, not really!,” he admits, his voice spiking up towards the end of his sentence.
You seem to sober up as you put together the scene before you. Looking around, you notice the rest of the party looking at you both with almost parent-like pride. You had slept for a second on a smooth, warm surface…
You feel like throwing up once you realize what you’ve subjected poor Alfred to! Your eyebrows shoot up, and he seems to understand that you’ve made the connection. He laughs, watching your owlish expression as you suddenly sober up.
“HA HA HA!! Oh, dude, you totally fell asleep on me!!”
Once you see he wasn’t offended by your treatment of him as essentially a bed, you also begin to laugh. You sit back against the couch, and your friends contribute to an uproarious laughter. You feel really stupid, in all honesty, but you suppose it could be worse. At least he was into it!!
. . .
By the time it hits 3 AM, everyone but you and Alfred have called it a night. You both and your lifelong friend continue to chat, but once you and her yawn in unison, you begin to realize it’s long past time to leave.
Looking at you intently with his blue eyes, Alfred offers to call a cab.
“I wouldn’t want a hot girl like you getting kidnapped, HAHAHAHA!!!,” he shouts, and you give him a kind of grimace-smile.
“Or, you know, you could come home with Alfred here!!,” he suggests, ears darkening. Your breath catches, but your friend saves you.
“Great idea, Alfred! You both can make sure you’re taken care of, hm?,” she replies, wingwomaning before you go totally catatonic.
You look over at her, mouth agape, but eventually sigh relentingly.
He calls you both a cab back to his place. You reason with yourself, thinking that you’ll just take the couch, and it will be totally non-romantic.
Unfortunately for your dignity, this prediction is entirely untrue. The tension between you two only grows in the backseat of the car. It’s silent between you both, the radio turned up. You place your hand on the middle seat, pursing your lips and trying to act natural. In reality, you’re desperate for him to notice your waiting appendage.
It takes him about five minutes, but he eventually slides his hand into yours, interlocking your fingers, and moving his thumb slowly against the back of it.
By the time you’ve reached his place, you both have comfied up quite a bit. You’re looking into the other’s eyes, with a ravenous kind of attraction. The driver seems uncomfortable, a portly older guy, who nervously peers into the rearview to see two young adults eye fucking in his backseat. He turns down the radio, and that gets you guys to snap out if it. Alfred ends up paying him, leaving a large tip that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.
You slide out of your seat onto the sidewalk, and Alfred follows, his hand coming to rest on your hipbone furthest from him. You curve into his side, and stay that way until you reach his apartment.
Pulling you into the foyer, his hands meet on your lower back, and you stare up into his eyes, plump lips slightly agape.
“Alfred…,” you whisper, eyes on his mouth, finally breaking the silence. He leans in, seeming to hesitate. You lean your chin closer, and he presses his lips firmly into yours.