If there was one word to be applied to Arthur Kirkland, it would be: predictable.

He expected his soulmate would be some fine, mannered gentleman like himself. After all, the words on his tattoo were a distinctive sorry I just really need some milk. Simple, but easy to identify his soulmate.

Arthur Kirkland was a stodgy little Brit who always worked at a nearby convenience store on weekends and shelved books at the university library on weekday evenings to pay his way through his degree. He fed his cat once in the morning, and once in the evening. He always showed up to class five minutes early and was always in bed before midnight.

Sunday morning was his free reading time, because no one in their right mind would walk in before noon. Thus, Arthur let the world of Wonderland draw him in.

Loud, thumping footsteps approached the store, but Arthur paid it no mind. It was probably some old man taking an early morning stroll or a teen taking their dog for a stroll.

He didn't expect the door to fly open. The person had thrown open the door with such force, a candy stand had been knocked over in the customer's haste.

Arthur jumped when the candy stand collided with the floor; he was violently ripped out of Wonderland.

"Sorry!" a voice hollered from somewhere near the dairy section. "I just really need some milk!"

In a daze, Arthur set his book on the counter and stood up to fix the fallen candy stand. He had just barely stepped around the counter when the customer had run up to the check out just as suddenly as he had burst in. The man was carrying six gallons of milk and proceeded to ungracefully dump all the cartons on Arthur's counter.

By this point, Arthur had given up any semblance of control and simply stood off to the side and gawked.

Without a pause, the man tore the cap off the nearest carton and brought it up to his lips, chugging down milk straight from the bottle as if his life depended on it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur registered that this stranger was quite attractive. In his rush for milk, he has clearly overlooked getting dressed as he was wearing long slung sweatpants and a very loose, low cut scrap of fabric that was meant to pass for a tank. He might as well have been running around shirtless with how little skin was actually being covered. The arm holes were so wide his entire chest (and what a fine, muscular chest he had) was on display. And he was also a sloppy drinker, as streams of milk dribbled out the corners of his lips and proceeded to trickle down his flushed cheeks, over his strongly defined jaw before dripping onto the ground.

Moments later, the last drops drained into the man's mouth and he flung the carton aside before tearing into a second carton.

Halfway through the second carton, Arthur's brain began functioning again. He stepped over to the man, gently prying the carton out of the the man's grasp. The carton left the man's lips with a pop and Arthur set the carton on the counter before looking up at his customer with a stern look and crossed arms.

"Pray tell, what the bloody hell just happened!?" Arthur said, his tone a fine mixture of amusement and irritation.

His customer said nothing, merely looking back and forth between Arthur and his forearm. His expression flickered between disbelief and amazement. Arthur was about to snap when the man finally spoke.

"What does your tattoo say?"

"Pardon?" Arthur had been expecting an apology for barging in so rudely, followed by an explanation, and an offer to clean up. Or something akin to that.

"Your soulmate tattoo? What does it say?"

Arthur spluttered, not prepared to respond to such a question. Instead, his customer reached for his arm instead and pushed up the sleeve of Arthur's cardigan, revealing the words that had been imprinted there since birth.

The man's face brightened up once he read the words and he looked back to Arthur's face with a wide grin and shining eyes. He extended his hand out to Arthur. "Mornin'! I'm Alfred F. Jones, and it appears that I'm your soulmate...?" Alfred ended his sentence in a questioning tone, given that Arthur's bewildered expression had melded into a glower.

When Arthur refused to acknowledge Alfred's outstretched hand, Alfred pulled back. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, waiting for Arthur to make the next move.

Arthur merely groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Bloody hell, all the fine blokes out there and I end up with a bloody twat for a soulmate."

A nervous laugh burst out of Alfred. It was quickly put to a stop by Arthur, who jabbed him in the chest with his index finger.

"You have much explaining to do, Jones." Every word was enunciated with a jab.

Arthur and Alfred sat across from each other in the corner of a small cafe. They were the only occupants. Arthur nursed his tea, relishing the warmth of the cup on his hands. He had ordered it only out of politeness, not trusting a coffee shop to make decent tea. Four grocery bags each containing a gallon of milk rested by Alfred's feet. Alfred himself was mauling a poor cinnamon bun, shoving sugary forkfuls down his throat as if he was in a speed eating competition. Arthur couldn't tell if he was just very hungry, or very excited about cinnamon buns.

Without thinking much of it, Arthur reached over and placed his hand over Alfred's free hand. Alfred stiffened slightly, looking up at Arthur with shocked blue eyes lined by dark circles underneath.

Before Alfred could make a sound, Arthur's lips curved up in a shy smile. "Remember to chew before you swallow. It simply wouldn't do for my soulmate to choke to death on a cinnamon bun on the day we met, " he said teasingly.

Alfred beamed, remnants of his cinnamon still caught in his teeth. Arthur didn't comment on it.

For a couple moments, neither of them moved their hands. Arthur was the first to pull away, setting his hand on his lap. He looked down, studying his cooling tea with flushed cheeks.

Alfred took a few more mouthfuls of cinnamon buns, now eating at a reasonable pace. An uncomfortable silence filled the room, broken only by the sounds of Alfred munching on his buns and Arthur absentmindedly drumming his fingers against the cup in his hands.

Alfred polished the last of his bun, downing it with a generous gulp of coffee.

"So," he nervously cleared his throat, "I'm thinking you have some questions about this morning."

Arthur nodded, but said nothing.

Alfred continued, "So I have this brother, my twin, actually. And I may have accidentally embarrassed his boyfriend during a family dinner. And I live with my brother, right? So it turns out he's actually a vengeful bastard and spiked my breakfast burger. And like, spicy food is literally my kryptonite, so you know what the traitor does?! He stuffed wasabi and jalapenos in my burger! The nerve." Alfred huffed, quite red in the face. His arms were swinging wildly, expressing his distress. It was a stroke of luck that the first coffee shop they had stumbled upon happened to be empty. No one would be caught by one of Alfred's flailing limbs.

"And you know what else the cheeky dick did? He drank all the drinks in the house. All of it. All the milk and pop and juice and coffee. No wonder he went to the bathroom so many times last night. And it turns out water makes spice worse. God, I can't believe I'm related to him." Alfred ended his rant with a petulant huff, punctuated by crossed arms and an exaggerated pout.

Arthur's expression flickered between detached affection and diluted amusement. His eyes sparkled. "I'm rather inclined to believe this brother of yours and I will get along just fine."

Alfred's pout deepened. "No way! Mattie has like no life except for his soulmate. His soulmate is probably half insane, but he's pretty awesome."

Arthur made a noncommittal sound. Behind Arthur's head, Alfred could see a couple passing by through the window.

"Hey," Alfred said, "wanna come over to my place? I can change and then we can go to a park or something and have some good 'ole soulmate bonding time!"

His mug now cold, Arthur took his hands away from the cup and clasped them together on his lap. Alfred was exasperating to deal with for long periods of time. But, Arthur reasoned with himself, at least it would never be boring. "I suppose. I have to ask, though, just why did you buy all that milk? The spice is gone. What on earth could you possibly need four and a half gallons of milk for?"

Alfred smirked. "Why, this is revenge."

If anyone want an omake of Alfred's revenge, leave me a comment or PM. I would like to write a revenge scene, but only if you guys want one.

Thanks for reading~~^^