Secret Santa 2012
TITLE: A Simple Misunderstanding
AUTHOR lucia2309
RECIPIENT: briaranise
GENRE: Romance
PAIRING(S): USUK, UKCan, hints of minor side-pairs.
RATINGS/WARNINGS: PG
SUMMARY: Matthew has been distracted of late by a newly opened pastry shop, so Alfred takes the time to investigate. He sees his brother chatting with another man, but is this date really what it seems? (Based on the prompt: Cafe!AU, possibly Romance/Slice of Life
NOTES: Thanks to the ever patient zo_one for betaing this fic. I deviated a bit from the prompt, but I hope it is to the requester's liking. (This is so late, and somewhat rushed. I almost feel I owe you another story.)
When Matthew came back late from work, three times in a row, with yet another box of éclairs, Alfred grew suspicious. When Matthew missed their Indiana Jones movie marathon, Alfred knew there was trouble.
There was only one possible option - his brother had fallen in love with a cafe waitress. Nothing else but the promise of a cute girl and rich pastries could lure Matthew away from Friday a night on the couch, relaxing with a tub of ice cream.
And, cute girls or not, nobody stood between Alfred F. Jones and his lazy evenings.
That was how Alfred found himself sitting in a corner table in the cafe, clad in a brown trench coat and a pair of shades, munching on a batch of chocolate chip cookies as he observed Matthew.
His brother stood by the bar counter, dressed in an ironed pair of slacks, a button-up shirt and oxfords. Matthew kept looking down at his watch, mumbling to himself while he searched the room for someone, his date, Alfred assumed.
“Sir, your coffee!”
Alfred snapped up, startled away from his observations by a busty, blond waitress. He smiled back at her, accepting the coffee from her shaking hands, before she dropped the cup. He thanked the waitress, lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip, focusing his eyes back on Matthew.
What he saw, however, made him choke on his drink.
Matthew's date wasn't a cute, sweet girl from college, but a handsome, well-dressed man in his mid-twenties.
“Sir! Are you ok, sir?”
The busty waitress fussed around, trying to clean up the mess with a handful of brown napkins, as she eyed Alfred worriedly.
Meanwhile, Alfred slumped in his seat, blushing furiously, and edging away from the girl's chest, hoping it would be enough to shield him from Matthew's sight. His brother still hadn't forgiven him for scaring off his previous girlfriend, a cheerful, friendly Cuban girl from Miami, who beat him in a round of baseball. If Matthew found him here, observing -
“...Sir, is your drink alright? Should I bring you another one?”
“N-no! Don't worry about me,” Alfred coughed out, swallowing down another gulp to reassure her. “It's fine, I was just surprised, that's all!”
“Yekaterina!”
She excused herself, off to tend to another table - Matthew's table. The couple had moved from the barstools; now they sat at one of the smaller, cozier tables near the fireplace.
“Yekaterina, could you bring this young man a cup of tea? Some honey on the side as well.” Matthew's date signaled her over, introducing his companion to the waitress. She smiled sweetly at both of them as she took down the order. “Will you be having the usual, Mr. Kirkland?”
“Yes, that would be fine, thank you.”
Matthew, it seemed, hadn't noticed him, despite all the commotion; he kept his head down as Mr. Kirkland talked to the waitress, probably concealing a blush from his companion, or so Alfred assumed.
He couldn't really tell, as he now faced Matthew's back, unable to see his brother's reactions.
On the other hand, he had a clear view of Matthew's date. Mr. Kirkland, as the waitress had called him, could have been a typical high school girl's crush, with his classic combination of blond, tousled hair and bright green eyes. He was toned but slender, of soft facial features, but with a sharp glint in his eyes.
Dressed in a worn cardigan and corduroys, along with a square-framed pair of glasses, which he adjusted every so often, Mr. Kirkland looked like quite the scholar. It suited him fine, although it did make Alfred wonder if Matthew wasn't nervous about seeming overdressed.
Mr. Kirkland sat leaning forward, his hands carded together. He smiled a soft, inviting but confident smile, as he listened to Matthew's anecdotes from school.
The pair talked on for over an hour since the incident, paying no attention to any of the events surrounding them. They were wrapped up in each other, and to Kirkland's credit, he did manage to get Matthew to feel at ease, prompting him to raise his voice enough during a heated conversation about literature, that he'd attracted the attention of most of the room.
Matthew's companion chuckled heartily at the other's embarrassment, smiling so wide, Alfred could feel the heat pooling in his cheeks, even if it wasn't directed at him.
They continued on chatting, although Matthew was more mindful of his outbursts.
It occurred to Alfred, sometime afterward, that although from his seat he could not distinguish their conversation, he'd stopped trying to decipher it long ago in favor of staring straight at Matthew's date. His voice soothed Alfred, made his cheeks tingle, and warmed his chest. It wasn't the accent, which Alfred recognized as vaguely British, but rather the inflections and the tone that inspired comfort.
He almost didn't notice them get up, shake hands, as they prepared to part ways.
“...I'll see you sharp at eight on Monday then, Matthew.”
“Yes, of course.” Matthew nodded, bursting into a smile once more. “I won't disappoint you, A-Arthur.”
The two disappeared, leaving Alfred to his own thoughts.
Arthur had left him speechless; there was no denying that the man was charming. Whether or not this made him a suitable boyfriend, Alfred did not know. He was still trying to figure out when his brother developed an attraction towards men.
He didn't mind the idea of Matthew dating other men, but somehow he wasn't very comfortable at the idea of Matthew dating Arthur.
“Matthew?”
Alfred jolted up, startled. Arthur had returned, with a group of unorganized files in his hands. He alternated between staring at Alfred and the pastry shop doors, brows creased down.
Alfred broke the silence.
“I'm not Matt.” There was a lengthy pause. “I'm his brother,” Alfred clarified, sensing doubt in the Englishman's expression. “And no, this isn't a joke or anything, we really are twins.”
“Are you sure?” Arthur eyed him suspiciously. “Do you have any proof?”
Alfred sighed before pulling out his driver's license from his pocket, too used to this suspicion to find it amusing. “I've been here for a while you know.” He replied, as he gestured towards his half-finished cup of coffee.
“Ah-you were the fellow who choked before,” Arthur remarked, much to Alfred's embarrassment. It was hardly the best first impression. “You gave Yekaterina quite a fright; she was so nervous, she boiled our tea for too long.”
“Sorry 'bout that,” Alfred replied, noting Arthur had yet to move from in front of him. “Can I make it up to ya'?”
“O-Oh, no that's fine. It's hardly your fault,” Arthur apologized, although Alfred could see the faintest hint of jealousy n his eyes. “It's just, this is my usual table here, but I suppose I can find a new one, just for today.”
“W-wait!” Alfred spoke on impulse, saddened by the idea of Arthur leaving. “You can sit here if you like. I'm just working on some stuff for school. I won't bother you.”
Arthur hesitated, but luck was on Alfred's side. It was midday, and the lunch crowd started to arrive, filling the shop with the hustle and bustle of office workers, young mothers and children. Just as Arthur was about to leave, a young couple claimed the last available table.
“It seems I don't have much of a choice,” Arthur remarked, taking a seat. “I expect you'll keep your promise. Do not interrupt me in my work.”
They sat in silence, each of them working on their own individual assignments. Or rather, Arthur worked, while Alfred sat distracted, unable to stop staring at the Englishman.
“Would you quit that,” Arthur complained. “I can't focus with you staring at me like that!”
Alfred felt his face heat up once more as he realized his mistake. Arthur noticed his own questionable wording, and quickly retracted his statement.
“Look,” he began, letting out a deep breath of air, and carding his hand through his hair. “I apologize for that-outburst, I am overwhelmed by all of this work.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Alfred offered, startled by how much he cared about this man's wellbeing. Perhaps it was his competitive side, but he felt defeated, annoyed by the fact that Matthew had managed a pleasant conversation with the man, and yet he hadn't managed to make Arthur crack a smile.
“I'm afraid there isn't much you could do to help,” Arthur replied wistfully. “Unless you can plan an open house event, or bake a mouthwatering loaf of country bread.”
“I'm afraid not.” Alfred replied good-naturedly, before his mind settled on a more pressing question. “W-wait, what is your job anyway?”
“Isn't it obvious? I own this café,” Arthur said. “Well, I suppose co-own would be more appropriate. Francis, my business partner that is, he owns the other half, but he's out in a meeting.”
“Geez, no wonder you're so grumpy. He left you with all the work.”
“I beg your pardon,” Arthur protested, and for a moment Alfred thought he'd insulted the man, before Arthur shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Actually working without Francis around is much more relaxing. The man is a handful when he's here, and if our abilities didn't complement each other so much, I'd say we should stay as far apart as possible.”
Alfred chuckled at that, surprised that Arthur would admit his distaste for a business partner openly. From his conversation with Matthew he'd never guessed the man was so blunt. He was quickly finding out, however, that Arthur held much more wit and sass than he'd initially let off.
“Well, I dunno about him, but I don't suppose our abilities would complement each other,” he ventured, eager to match Arthur at his own game. “That is, if you could use a dumb jock with an astrophysics degree.”
“Well, I have no use for the common sciences.” Arthur joked, smirking at Alfred's boasts. “But I could use the brute force to arrange the cafe displays.”
“Great!” Alfred exclaimed, almost jumping out of his seat. “When do I have to come?”
“Oh no.” Arthur's eyes widened, just now realizing Alfred truly meant the offer. “I couldn't possibly ask that of you.”
“I can come; I'll get up nice and early. No problem!”
Arthur shook his head at his suggesting, rejecting his offer, to Alfred dismay. Instead, he picked up Alfred’s now empty bag of sweets.
“You are welcome to come, but only as a guest. We'll be baking plenty more of those cookies.” Arthur proposed, gesturing towards the crumbed remains of Alfred's sweet treat. Arthur smiled at last, to Alfred's relief, even if it was a cocky, cheeky smile. “I'll make sure it is worth the loss of sleep.”
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Alfred woke up that Saturday to the noise of his alarm, after a restless night. He'd spent the night rolling around his bed, tossing away the covers as he thought of the bakery's co-owner.
In his dream, he saw Arthur. He imagined Arthur, dressed in chef's attire, sleeves rolled up, and hands rugged from work, as he kneaded the dough into submission. Arthur was covered in flour, sweat dripping from his reddened front as he leaned into the burning oven, prodding the loaf, testing to make sure it was ready, ready to be displayed in front of the Baker's Guild.
He awoke, covered in sweat himself, and in need of a cold shower.
However, once he got in the shower, which he'd surprisingly found already wet, he found it hard to ignore the implications of his latest dream.
Despite his own wishes to keep Arthur to himself, Arthur was Matthew's date, not his. Yet, here Alfred stood, fantasizing about Arthur in his dreams, sneaking peaks of him during the week, while Matthew was none the wiser.
His brother wasn't the most sociable person; he didn't enjoy crowds and rarely ventured out from the apartment during the weekends. But that day, Alfred noted, he'd come back from the pastry shop with heightened spirits and a huge grin plastered on his face. Just talking to Arthur briefly lifted Matthew's mood, drew him out of his well-crafted shell.
For once, with Arthur, Matthew overshadowed his boisterous brother, and Alfred had no right to interfere with his brother's happiness over a silly crush.
He slipped into his clothes, which he'd prepared his clothes the night before - a brand new pair of dark-colored jeans, an ironed shirt, light brown cardigan and loafers. It wasn't his usual attire, as his conscience reprimanded him, but it was sure to attract Arthur attention.
And yet, that was the opposite of what Alfred intended to do.
Armed with new determination, he finally settled on wearing his old bomber jacket to cover his choice of clothes.
He'd go to the shop, give Arthur his best wishes as Matthew's new boyfriend (with a warning thrown in for caution's sake), and bring home one of their elaborate cakes as an apology to his brother. And perhaps, he thought, forcing a smile, another batch of those chocolate chip cookies, to lift his own mood.
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Alfred entered the cafe, panting and shivering from the cold to find the pastry shop bursting with chaos.
He saw Arthur first, despite his own wishes, dressed in a wrinkled Union Jack shirt and a pair of worn pants, hurriedly ushering in some guests at the entrance. The man looked ragged, overworked, with dark circles and bag under his eyes, about to collapse from stress.
“Ah, Matthew, perfect timing,” Arthur exclaimed, not bothering to look back and check if he had the right sibling. “Go man the sandwich counter, I believe Bella could use some support.”
Alfred didn't bother arguing with him; just seeing the man so worn crumbled most of his resolve to leave the cafe quickly. But, he reasoned, there was no harm in helping out. At the very least Matthew would appreciate that gesture of kindness more than Alfred's constant ogling of Arthur. Plus he'd be off working with another lady, far from any possible temptation.
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“Come on, keep them coming!” Bella rallied at Alfred, whose job was to toast the sandwiches and hand them off. A simple enough job, except that Alfred could not keep up with the frantic pace Bella adopted, but to be fair, neither of them could keep up with the demand. “I can't keep making any more if you don't clear out all this counter space!”
They'd been baking for a couple hours, and already Alfred was exhausted, ready to drop into the nearest open chair (which admittedly, didn't exist).
It was around that time, that Monsieur Girard entered the bakery.
He didn't cause much of a commotion at first, as the man moved over to the coffee counter to order an espresso. However, Alfred noticed something was off, as soon as he saw Bella slow down, making silly hand gestures to the (normally clueless) Spaniard from the Deli.
“What's going on?” he asked, sensing a new current of excitement and nervousness at the man's arrival.
“That's the guy from the Baker's guild.” Bella explained. “He's the one who gets to decide if we keep our membership or not. So put your back into it and make him a damn good sandwich.”
“You… you know I’m not Matthew, right?” Alfred asked, finally succumbing to the pressure.
“Nah, I know.” she admitted, flashing Alfred a catlike guilty grin. “But it's very sweet of you, to help Mr. Kirkland.”
Alfred blushed, despite himself. He understood what she was implying, but he didn't have enough courage to correct her, one way or another.
“Now, someone needs to stop him from messing with the bakers, and darling, I can't think of a better person than you.” She continued, sending him away from the grill, muffling his protests. “Trust me; you'll be doing us a much bigger favor.”
Alfred got to the kitchen to find Arthur had taken over the task of kneading dough from one of the bakers, just as Bella said he would. The panicked baker in question, a redheaded, bubbly fellow Alfred had seen roaming the counters in one of his visits, hovered over Arthur, worried and yet too intimidated by Arthur's frenzy.
Alfred could plainly see why, unlike in his dreams, where Arthur was a master chef, here Arthur manhandled the dough, turning it instead into his own personal punching bag.
One, which Alfred could bet, had Francis' face on it.
His discomfort was nothing, however, compared to Lovino's, a hot-headed baker Alfred had seen complaining near the Deli earlier in the week. He stopped his own work, opting instead to stare down at Arthur's pathetic attempts, without actually stopping him. Instead, Lovino took out his frustrations on the kitchen equipment, as he slammed down his roller pin against the metal counter, the noise of it resonating all over the kitchen.
“Lovino--!”
Lovino rushed towards Alfred, who still stood by the door, still working up his courage to face Arthur.
“You!” Lovino demanded. “Get the damn fire extinguisher before he burns down the shop!”
Alfred complied, not about to argue with angry bakers wielding roller pins. He walked out of the kitchen towards the bathrooms, broke the glass plane and carried the fire extinguisher back to the kitchen. He set it aside, fully expecting never to use it.
He was proven wrong.
In a bizarre turn of events, just as Arthur had removed his deformed loaf, the oven burst into flames.
“Hey-Hey! I'll take care of the fire.” Lovino gestured at him, ignoring the fire. He handed Alfred another loaf, this one more elaborate. “Now hurry up and exchange this one with eyebrow's loaf, or else we'll be the first member of the guild to kill one of the judges.”
Alfred needed no further incentive. He placed Lovino's dough on the countertop, took Arthur's loaf back and threw it into the nearest trashcan.
Lovino managed to extinguish the fire before it spread to other areas, although he could not salvage any of Arthur's latter creations. As it was, however, there was no major harm done.
Lovino patted Alfred on the back for a job well done, Feliciano emerged from behind the curtains and Arthur slumped into a nearby stool. All of them were ready to end that godforsaken day.
But they had forgotten about one last detail.
“Mr. Kirkland.”
Mr. Girard had entered the kitchen, no doubt startled by all the commotion they were creating, with half the bakery's staff holed up in the kitchen.
“Now, will you explain to me how you managed to start a fire on such an important day?”
“I'm very sorry Mr. Girard.” Arthur began, doing his best to appear reassuring. Unfortunately, that was impossible, given Arthur couldn't seem to lift himself up from the stool.
“Furthermore, I have yet to taste the most important part of the demonstration”
From his side, Alfred could see Lovino nudge Feliciano forward. The young baker took Lovino's loaf, cut off a wide slice, and offered it to the judge.
Mr. Girard accepted it, and took a small bite of the brioche. He smiled shortly afterwards, savoring it, before accepting another piece Feliciano offered him.
The tension began to dissipate, as Girard's reactions became more positive with every bite. Even Arthur perked up, glad that his bread was appreciated, and none the wiser to the little switch.
“Your verdict, Monsieur?”
“The food was delicious, and yet the service was sub-par at best.” Mr. Girard commented, not hiding his disdain for Arthur. “However, and I do this as a personal favor to Francis, I will return tomorrow to retest this bakery. Consider this a test run, to prepare for tomorrow.”
He left, the unspoken threat of expulsion still delayed for another night.
Lovino returned once the man was out of sight, still muttering profanity under his breath. He stopped however, once he saw Alfred crouched on the floor. “I thought I told you to start cleaning up all the ash!” he shouted, crossing his arms.
“Lovino, I can't find the supply closet,” Matthew replied, popping a few feet from the kitchen door, but much like Lovino, he froze once he saw his brother.
“A-Alfred?”
He raced towards the kitchen, dragging a young woman along by the hand. It was the same busty waitress from before, the one who'd fussed over Alfred. She sported the same worried look now, as she, along with Matthew, examined the mess Arthur's efforts created in the kitchen.
“What on earth happened here?” Yekaterina wondered out loud, voicing her thoughts to compensate for Matthew's silence. “Oh, Mr. Kirkland! I'm so sorry; I would have come to help out if I knew. It is just the cafe kept us so busy; we didn't even notice anything else!”
She let go of Matthew temporarily, to fetch a pair of broomsticks and a mop from the supply closet. She handed the latter to Matthew, who began working, still dumbfounded. The Italian twins each got one of the broomsticks, before silently retiring to work, shut up by Arthur's glare and Yekaterina's command.
She grabbed a wet cloth of her own, and started to scrub the counters.
“Now, if we clean this up before Francis and the main committee arrives, we might still be able to impress the judges,” she encouraged. “Matthew, dear, could you take Mr. Girard a shot of expresso?”
Alfred's brain, exhausted from the previous mess, stirred as he processed that pet name.
“Dear”.
It couldn't be.
“Matt!” he called out, turning to look at both Arthur and his brother. “W-wait, so you two aren't-”
“We?” Matthew responded, seemingly confused. He turned to look at Yekaterina, blushing up to his ears. “N-no, Yekaterina and I are just good friends, isn't that right?”
“Matthew, it's alright.”
It was Arthur who spoke up at last, drawn out of his reverie. “I've known about this for a while, there is no need to hide. As long as you keep it professional, neither Francis nor I have any qualms about this relationship.”
“Relationship,” Alfred repeated, his head still spinning from the reveal, as if he was missing some vital piece of information. “But, I thought you were dating Arthur!”
“Me?” Arthur exclaimed, bewildered. “What on earth gave you that impression?”
“I-I thought - that date the other day, and Matt's been hanging out the store a lot.”
“Of course he has, I hired him!”
It all started to come together for him in that moment and it left Alfred wanting to slap himself in the face for his stupidity. He fought against the hot, embarrassing blush that crept onto his face, as he was now in the spotlight, caught red-handed, all his mistaken assumptions displayed.
Fortunately, Yekaterina spared him from further punishment as she ushered out Matthew and Feliciano, reminding them to attend to the remaining guests.
It left Alfred alone with Arthur, both of them silent - too scared to disrupt the calm but charged atmosphere, as their adrenaline gave way to exhaustion. And yet, Alfred couldn't help but smile dumbly, once it hit him. Arthur was single, all this time, and all of Alfred's regrets about stealing him away were unfounded.
Arthur could be his, if the other man agreed to it.
“Would you like to go out sometime?” he chanced it; after all, he'd already ridiculed himself in front of Arthur. If the man didn't accept now, then he never would.
Arthur lifted his head from between his arms, sighing and rubbing his face with both hands. He looked every bit as tired as a man who just finished a marathon, only to come in fourth place to his rivals.
“It's fine if you don't wanna answer me right now,” Alfred relented, gulping audibly at Arthur's strain. He wanted to comfort the man, envelop him into a crushing bear hug. He settled for dragging a spare stool next to Arthur's, sitting down and resting a hand on Arthur shoulders. “But once Francis comes back and this whole mess is over, we could go see a movie?”
The other man stiffened at the contact, but he made no move to swat Alfred's hand away. It took him a few moments to relax under Alfred's touch, before he gave in and closed his eyes, nuzzling his head on Alfred's palm.
“That sounds lovely.” He muttered.
Alfred could have kissed him, right in the middle of the shop, his chest bursting with happiness. But, he reminded himself, they would have time for that later.
For now, he'd enjoy the moment, as he enveloped the dozing Briton into his arms
AUTHOR lucia2309
RECIPIENT: briaranise
GENRE: Romance
PAIRING(S): USUK, UKCan, hints of minor side-pairs.
RATINGS/WARNINGS: PG
SUMMARY: Matthew has been distracted of late by a newly opened pastry shop, so Alfred takes the time to investigate. He sees his brother chatting with another man, but is this date really what it seems? (Based on the prompt: Cafe!AU, possibly Romance/Slice of Life
NOTES: Thanks to the ever patient zo_one for betaing this fic. I deviated a bit from the prompt, but I hope it is to the requester's liking. (This is so late, and somewhat rushed. I almost feel I owe you another story.)
When Matthew came back late from work, three times in a row, with yet another box of éclairs, Alfred grew suspicious. When Matthew missed their Indiana Jones movie marathon, Alfred knew there was trouble.
There was only one possible option - his brother had fallen in love with a cafe waitress. Nothing else but the promise of a cute girl and rich pastries could lure Matthew away from Friday a night on the couch, relaxing with a tub of ice cream.
And, cute girls or not, nobody stood between Alfred F. Jones and his lazy evenings.
That was how Alfred found himself sitting in a corner table in the cafe, clad in a brown trench coat and a pair of shades, munching on a batch of chocolate chip cookies as he observed Matthew.
His brother stood by the bar counter, dressed in an ironed pair of slacks, a button-up shirt and oxfords. Matthew kept looking down at his watch, mumbling to himself while he searched the room for someone, his date, Alfred assumed.
“Sir, your coffee!”
Alfred snapped up, startled away from his observations by a busty, blond waitress. He smiled back at her, accepting the coffee from her shaking hands, before she dropped the cup. He thanked the waitress, lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip, focusing his eyes back on Matthew.
What he saw, however, made him choke on his drink.
Matthew's date wasn't a cute, sweet girl from college, but a handsome, well-dressed man in his mid-twenties.
“Sir! Are you ok, sir?”
The busty waitress fussed around, trying to clean up the mess with a handful of brown napkins, as she eyed Alfred worriedly.
Meanwhile, Alfred slumped in his seat, blushing furiously, and edging away from the girl's chest, hoping it would be enough to shield him from Matthew's sight. His brother still hadn't forgiven him for scaring off his previous girlfriend, a cheerful, friendly Cuban girl from Miami, who beat him in a round of baseball. If Matthew found him here, observing -
“...Sir, is your drink alright? Should I bring you another one?”
“N-no! Don't worry about me,” Alfred coughed out, swallowing down another gulp to reassure her. “It's fine, I was just surprised, that's all!”
“Yekaterina!”
She excused herself, off to tend to another table - Matthew's table. The couple had moved from the barstools; now they sat at one of the smaller, cozier tables near the fireplace.
“Yekaterina, could you bring this young man a cup of tea? Some honey on the side as well.” Matthew's date signaled her over, introducing his companion to the waitress. She smiled sweetly at both of them as she took down the order. “Will you be having the usual, Mr. Kirkland?”
“Yes, that would be fine, thank you.”
Matthew, it seemed, hadn't noticed him, despite all the commotion; he kept his head down as Mr. Kirkland talked to the waitress, probably concealing a blush from his companion, or so Alfred assumed.
He couldn't really tell, as he now faced Matthew's back, unable to see his brother's reactions.
On the other hand, he had a clear view of Matthew's date. Mr. Kirkland, as the waitress had called him, could have been a typical high school girl's crush, with his classic combination of blond, tousled hair and bright green eyes. He was toned but slender, of soft facial features, but with a sharp glint in his eyes.
Dressed in a worn cardigan and corduroys, along with a square-framed pair of glasses, which he adjusted every so often, Mr. Kirkland looked like quite the scholar. It suited him fine, although it did make Alfred wonder if Matthew wasn't nervous about seeming overdressed.
Mr. Kirkland sat leaning forward, his hands carded together. He smiled a soft, inviting but confident smile, as he listened to Matthew's anecdotes from school.
The pair talked on for over an hour since the incident, paying no attention to any of the events surrounding them. They were wrapped up in each other, and to Kirkland's credit, he did manage to get Matthew to feel at ease, prompting him to raise his voice enough during a heated conversation about literature, that he'd attracted the attention of most of the room.
Matthew's companion chuckled heartily at the other's embarrassment, smiling so wide, Alfred could feel the heat pooling in his cheeks, even if it wasn't directed at him.
They continued on chatting, although Matthew was more mindful of his outbursts.
It occurred to Alfred, sometime afterward, that although from his seat he could not distinguish their conversation, he'd stopped trying to decipher it long ago in favor of staring straight at Matthew's date. His voice soothed Alfred, made his cheeks tingle, and warmed his chest. It wasn't the accent, which Alfred recognized as vaguely British, but rather the inflections and the tone that inspired comfort.
He almost didn't notice them get up, shake hands, as they prepared to part ways.
“...I'll see you sharp at eight on Monday then, Matthew.”
“Yes, of course.” Matthew nodded, bursting into a smile once more. “I won't disappoint you, A-Arthur.”
The two disappeared, leaving Alfred to his own thoughts.
Arthur had left him speechless; there was no denying that the man was charming. Whether or not this made him a suitable boyfriend, Alfred did not know. He was still trying to figure out when his brother developed an attraction towards men.
He didn't mind the idea of Matthew dating other men, but somehow he wasn't very comfortable at the idea of Matthew dating Arthur.
“Matthew?”
Alfred jolted up, startled. Arthur had returned, with a group of unorganized files in his hands. He alternated between staring at Alfred and the pastry shop doors, brows creased down.
Alfred broke the silence.
“I'm not Matt.” There was a lengthy pause. “I'm his brother,” Alfred clarified, sensing doubt in the Englishman's expression. “And no, this isn't a joke or anything, we really are twins.”
“Are you sure?” Arthur eyed him suspiciously. “Do you have any proof?”
Alfred sighed before pulling out his driver's license from his pocket, too used to this suspicion to find it amusing. “I've been here for a while you know.” He replied, as he gestured towards his half-finished cup of coffee.
“Ah-you were the fellow who choked before,” Arthur remarked, much to Alfred's embarrassment. It was hardly the best first impression. “You gave Yekaterina quite a fright; she was so nervous, she boiled our tea for too long.”
“Sorry 'bout that,” Alfred replied, noting Arthur had yet to move from in front of him. “Can I make it up to ya'?”
“O-Oh, no that's fine. It's hardly your fault,” Arthur apologized, although Alfred could see the faintest hint of jealousy n his eyes. “It's just, this is my usual table here, but I suppose I can find a new one, just for today.”
“W-wait!” Alfred spoke on impulse, saddened by the idea of Arthur leaving. “You can sit here if you like. I'm just working on some stuff for school. I won't bother you.”
Arthur hesitated, but luck was on Alfred's side. It was midday, and the lunch crowd started to arrive, filling the shop with the hustle and bustle of office workers, young mothers and children. Just as Arthur was about to leave, a young couple claimed the last available table.
“It seems I don't have much of a choice,” Arthur remarked, taking a seat. “I expect you'll keep your promise. Do not interrupt me in my work.”
They sat in silence, each of them working on their own individual assignments. Or rather, Arthur worked, while Alfred sat distracted, unable to stop staring at the Englishman.
“Would you quit that,” Arthur complained. “I can't focus with you staring at me like that!”
Alfred felt his face heat up once more as he realized his mistake. Arthur noticed his own questionable wording, and quickly retracted his statement.
“Look,” he began, letting out a deep breath of air, and carding his hand through his hair. “I apologize for that-outburst, I am overwhelmed by all of this work.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Alfred offered, startled by how much he cared about this man's wellbeing. Perhaps it was his competitive side, but he felt defeated, annoyed by the fact that Matthew had managed a pleasant conversation with the man, and yet he hadn't managed to make Arthur crack a smile.
“I'm afraid there isn't much you could do to help,” Arthur replied wistfully. “Unless you can plan an open house event, or bake a mouthwatering loaf of country bread.”
“I'm afraid not.” Alfred replied good-naturedly, before his mind settled on a more pressing question. “W-wait, what is your job anyway?”
“Isn't it obvious? I own this café,” Arthur said. “Well, I suppose co-own would be more appropriate. Francis, my business partner that is, he owns the other half, but he's out in a meeting.”
“Geez, no wonder you're so grumpy. He left you with all the work.”
“I beg your pardon,” Arthur protested, and for a moment Alfred thought he'd insulted the man, before Arthur shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Actually working without Francis around is much more relaxing. The man is a handful when he's here, and if our abilities didn't complement each other so much, I'd say we should stay as far apart as possible.”
Alfred chuckled at that, surprised that Arthur would admit his distaste for a business partner openly. From his conversation with Matthew he'd never guessed the man was so blunt. He was quickly finding out, however, that Arthur held much more wit and sass than he'd initially let off.
“Well, I dunno about him, but I don't suppose our abilities would complement each other,” he ventured, eager to match Arthur at his own game. “That is, if you could use a dumb jock with an astrophysics degree.”
“Well, I have no use for the common sciences.” Arthur joked, smirking at Alfred's boasts. “But I could use the brute force to arrange the cafe displays.”
“Great!” Alfred exclaimed, almost jumping out of his seat. “When do I have to come?”
“Oh no.” Arthur's eyes widened, just now realizing Alfred truly meant the offer. “I couldn't possibly ask that of you.”
“I can come; I'll get up nice and early. No problem!”
Arthur shook his head at his suggesting, rejecting his offer, to Alfred dismay. Instead, he picked up Alfred’s now empty bag of sweets.
“You are welcome to come, but only as a guest. We'll be baking plenty more of those cookies.” Arthur proposed, gesturing towards the crumbed remains of Alfred's sweet treat. Arthur smiled at last, to Alfred's relief, even if it was a cocky, cheeky smile. “I'll make sure it is worth the loss of sleep.”
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Alfred woke up that Saturday to the noise of his alarm, after a restless night. He'd spent the night rolling around his bed, tossing away the covers as he thought of the bakery's co-owner.
In his dream, he saw Arthur. He imagined Arthur, dressed in chef's attire, sleeves rolled up, and hands rugged from work, as he kneaded the dough into submission. Arthur was covered in flour, sweat dripping from his reddened front as he leaned into the burning oven, prodding the loaf, testing to make sure it was ready, ready to be displayed in front of the Baker's Guild.
He awoke, covered in sweat himself, and in need of a cold shower.
However, once he got in the shower, which he'd surprisingly found already wet, he found it hard to ignore the implications of his latest dream.
Despite his own wishes to keep Arthur to himself, Arthur was Matthew's date, not his. Yet, here Alfred stood, fantasizing about Arthur in his dreams, sneaking peaks of him during the week, while Matthew was none the wiser.
His brother wasn't the most sociable person; he didn't enjoy crowds and rarely ventured out from the apartment during the weekends. But that day, Alfred noted, he'd come back from the pastry shop with heightened spirits and a huge grin plastered on his face. Just talking to Arthur briefly lifted Matthew's mood, drew him out of his well-crafted shell.
For once, with Arthur, Matthew overshadowed his boisterous brother, and Alfred had no right to interfere with his brother's happiness over a silly crush.
He slipped into his clothes, which he'd prepared his clothes the night before - a brand new pair of dark-colored jeans, an ironed shirt, light brown cardigan and loafers. It wasn't his usual attire, as his conscience reprimanded him, but it was sure to attract Arthur attention.
And yet, that was the opposite of what Alfred intended to do.
Armed with new determination, he finally settled on wearing his old bomber jacket to cover his choice of clothes.
He'd go to the shop, give Arthur his best wishes as Matthew's new boyfriend (with a warning thrown in for caution's sake), and bring home one of their elaborate cakes as an apology to his brother. And perhaps, he thought, forcing a smile, another batch of those chocolate chip cookies, to lift his own mood.
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Alfred entered the cafe, panting and shivering from the cold to find the pastry shop bursting with chaos.
He saw Arthur first, despite his own wishes, dressed in a wrinkled Union Jack shirt and a pair of worn pants, hurriedly ushering in some guests at the entrance. The man looked ragged, overworked, with dark circles and bag under his eyes, about to collapse from stress.
“Ah, Matthew, perfect timing,” Arthur exclaimed, not bothering to look back and check if he had the right sibling. “Go man the sandwich counter, I believe Bella could use some support.”
Alfred didn't bother arguing with him; just seeing the man so worn crumbled most of his resolve to leave the cafe quickly. But, he reasoned, there was no harm in helping out. At the very least Matthew would appreciate that gesture of kindness more than Alfred's constant ogling of Arthur. Plus he'd be off working with another lady, far from any possible temptation.
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“Come on, keep them coming!” Bella rallied at Alfred, whose job was to toast the sandwiches and hand them off. A simple enough job, except that Alfred could not keep up with the frantic pace Bella adopted, but to be fair, neither of them could keep up with the demand. “I can't keep making any more if you don't clear out all this counter space!”
They'd been baking for a couple hours, and already Alfred was exhausted, ready to drop into the nearest open chair (which admittedly, didn't exist).
It was around that time, that Monsieur Girard entered the bakery.
He didn't cause much of a commotion at first, as the man moved over to the coffee counter to order an espresso. However, Alfred noticed something was off, as soon as he saw Bella slow down, making silly hand gestures to the (normally clueless) Spaniard from the Deli.
“What's going on?” he asked, sensing a new current of excitement and nervousness at the man's arrival.
“That's the guy from the Baker's guild.” Bella explained. “He's the one who gets to decide if we keep our membership or not. So put your back into it and make him a damn good sandwich.”
“You… you know I’m not Matthew, right?” Alfred asked, finally succumbing to the pressure.
“Nah, I know.” she admitted, flashing Alfred a catlike guilty grin. “But it's very sweet of you, to help Mr. Kirkland.”
Alfred blushed, despite himself. He understood what she was implying, but he didn't have enough courage to correct her, one way or another.
“Now, someone needs to stop him from messing with the bakers, and darling, I can't think of a better person than you.” She continued, sending him away from the grill, muffling his protests. “Trust me; you'll be doing us a much bigger favor.”
Alfred got to the kitchen to find Arthur had taken over the task of kneading dough from one of the bakers, just as Bella said he would. The panicked baker in question, a redheaded, bubbly fellow Alfred had seen roaming the counters in one of his visits, hovered over Arthur, worried and yet too intimidated by Arthur's frenzy.
Alfred could plainly see why, unlike in his dreams, where Arthur was a master chef, here Arthur manhandled the dough, turning it instead into his own personal punching bag.
One, which Alfred could bet, had Francis' face on it.
His discomfort was nothing, however, compared to Lovino's, a hot-headed baker Alfred had seen complaining near the Deli earlier in the week. He stopped his own work, opting instead to stare down at Arthur's pathetic attempts, without actually stopping him. Instead, Lovino took out his frustrations on the kitchen equipment, as he slammed down his roller pin against the metal counter, the noise of it resonating all over the kitchen.
“Lovino--!”
Lovino rushed towards Alfred, who still stood by the door, still working up his courage to face Arthur.
“You!” Lovino demanded. “Get the damn fire extinguisher before he burns down the shop!”
Alfred complied, not about to argue with angry bakers wielding roller pins. He walked out of the kitchen towards the bathrooms, broke the glass plane and carried the fire extinguisher back to the kitchen. He set it aside, fully expecting never to use it.
He was proven wrong.
In a bizarre turn of events, just as Arthur had removed his deformed loaf, the oven burst into flames.
“Hey-Hey! I'll take care of the fire.” Lovino gestured at him, ignoring the fire. He handed Alfred another loaf, this one more elaborate. “Now hurry up and exchange this one with eyebrow's loaf, or else we'll be the first member of the guild to kill one of the judges.”
Alfred needed no further incentive. He placed Lovino's dough on the countertop, took Arthur's loaf back and threw it into the nearest trashcan.
Lovino managed to extinguish the fire before it spread to other areas, although he could not salvage any of Arthur's latter creations. As it was, however, there was no major harm done.
Lovino patted Alfred on the back for a job well done, Feliciano emerged from behind the curtains and Arthur slumped into a nearby stool. All of them were ready to end that godforsaken day.
But they had forgotten about one last detail.
“Mr. Kirkland.”
Mr. Girard had entered the kitchen, no doubt startled by all the commotion they were creating, with half the bakery's staff holed up in the kitchen.
“Now, will you explain to me how you managed to start a fire on such an important day?”
“I'm very sorry Mr. Girard.” Arthur began, doing his best to appear reassuring. Unfortunately, that was impossible, given Arthur couldn't seem to lift himself up from the stool.
“Furthermore, I have yet to taste the most important part of the demonstration”
From his side, Alfred could see Lovino nudge Feliciano forward. The young baker took Lovino's loaf, cut off a wide slice, and offered it to the judge.
Mr. Girard accepted it, and took a small bite of the brioche. He smiled shortly afterwards, savoring it, before accepting another piece Feliciano offered him.
The tension began to dissipate, as Girard's reactions became more positive with every bite. Even Arthur perked up, glad that his bread was appreciated, and none the wiser to the little switch.
“Your verdict, Monsieur?”
“The food was delicious, and yet the service was sub-par at best.” Mr. Girard commented, not hiding his disdain for Arthur. “However, and I do this as a personal favor to Francis, I will return tomorrow to retest this bakery. Consider this a test run, to prepare for tomorrow.”
He left, the unspoken threat of expulsion still delayed for another night.
Lovino returned once the man was out of sight, still muttering profanity under his breath. He stopped however, once he saw Alfred crouched on the floor. “I thought I told you to start cleaning up all the ash!” he shouted, crossing his arms.
“Lovino, I can't find the supply closet,” Matthew replied, popping a few feet from the kitchen door, but much like Lovino, he froze once he saw his brother.
“A-Alfred?”
He raced towards the kitchen, dragging a young woman along by the hand. It was the same busty waitress from before, the one who'd fussed over Alfred. She sported the same worried look now, as she, along with Matthew, examined the mess Arthur's efforts created in the kitchen.
“What on earth happened here?” Yekaterina wondered out loud, voicing her thoughts to compensate for Matthew's silence. “Oh, Mr. Kirkland! I'm so sorry; I would have come to help out if I knew. It is just the cafe kept us so busy; we didn't even notice anything else!”
She let go of Matthew temporarily, to fetch a pair of broomsticks and a mop from the supply closet. She handed the latter to Matthew, who began working, still dumbfounded. The Italian twins each got one of the broomsticks, before silently retiring to work, shut up by Arthur's glare and Yekaterina's command.
She grabbed a wet cloth of her own, and started to scrub the counters.
“Now, if we clean this up before Francis and the main committee arrives, we might still be able to impress the judges,” she encouraged. “Matthew, dear, could you take Mr. Girard a shot of expresso?”
Alfred's brain, exhausted from the previous mess, stirred as he processed that pet name.
“Dear”.
It couldn't be.
“Matt!” he called out, turning to look at both Arthur and his brother. “W-wait, so you two aren't-”
“We?” Matthew responded, seemingly confused. He turned to look at Yekaterina, blushing up to his ears. “N-no, Yekaterina and I are just good friends, isn't that right?”
“Matthew, it's alright.”
It was Arthur who spoke up at last, drawn out of his reverie. “I've known about this for a while, there is no need to hide. As long as you keep it professional, neither Francis nor I have any qualms about this relationship.”
“Relationship,” Alfred repeated, his head still spinning from the reveal, as if he was missing some vital piece of information. “But, I thought you were dating Arthur!”
“Me?” Arthur exclaimed, bewildered. “What on earth gave you that impression?”
“I-I thought - that date the other day, and Matt's been hanging out the store a lot.”
“Of course he has, I hired him!”
It all started to come together for him in that moment and it left Alfred wanting to slap himself in the face for his stupidity. He fought against the hot, embarrassing blush that crept onto his face, as he was now in the spotlight, caught red-handed, all his mistaken assumptions displayed.
Fortunately, Yekaterina spared him from further punishment as she ushered out Matthew and Feliciano, reminding them to attend to the remaining guests.
It left Alfred alone with Arthur, both of them silent - too scared to disrupt the calm but charged atmosphere, as their adrenaline gave way to exhaustion. And yet, Alfred couldn't help but smile dumbly, once it hit him. Arthur was single, all this time, and all of Alfred's regrets about stealing him away were unfounded.
Arthur could be his, if the other man agreed to it.
“Would you like to go out sometime?” he chanced it; after all, he'd already ridiculed himself in front of Arthur. If the man didn't accept now, then he never would.
Arthur lifted his head from between his arms, sighing and rubbing his face with both hands. He looked every bit as tired as a man who just finished a marathon, only to come in fourth place to his rivals.
“It's fine if you don't wanna answer me right now,” Alfred relented, gulping audibly at Arthur's strain. He wanted to comfort the man, envelop him into a crushing bear hug. He settled for dragging a spare stool next to Arthur's, sitting down and resting a hand on Arthur shoulders. “But once Francis comes back and this whole mess is over, we could go see a movie?”
The other man stiffened at the contact, but he made no move to swat Alfred's hand away. It took him a few moments to relax under Alfred's touch, before he gave in and closed his eyes, nuzzling his head on Alfred's palm.
“That sounds lovely.” He muttered.
Alfred could have kissed him, right in the middle of the shop, his chest bursting with happiness. But, he reminded himself, they would have time for that later.
For now, he'd enjoy the moment, as he enveloped the dozing Briton into his arms