Teabags and Scones

Arthur hated the supermarket. What Arthur hated most about supermarkets was the height of the shelves. How come almost all of his desired items were on the highest shelves? And, furthermore, how come he was so short? It was a curse, really; God was laughing at him, or something along those lines. God was having a good guffaw, watching in sadistic glee as Arthur grumbled to himself and strained on his tip-toes, his fingertips only managing to brush at the item on the top shelf.

He had been trying to reach for quite a while now, and normally he would have just let out a heavy sigh and moved on. Alas, he could not do such a thing for this particular item: teabags. He didn't want to be a stereotypical Englishman, but if there was something he loved, it was his tea. That was why he continued to do his best, desperately grabbing at the box containing his favourite delicacy, but instead ending up grasping air.

Arthur frowned and furrowed his brows. He hated his stubbornness and love for tea, because people around him were probably laughing at his feeble attempts. He was feeling slightly embarrassed, and rather ruffled, but God and the whole supermarket were welcome to laugh at him, so long as he left with teabags as compensation for this frustrating situation. He winced, his eyes shut tight and his lips forming a long line, and let out a repressed whine as he made one particularly big attempt at reaching, almost becoming a ballet dancer what with how on his tippy-toes he was.

Arthur gasped as he felt the familiar texture of a cardboard box filled with teabags in his hand. He opened his eyes, gawking at the box now firmly in his grasp, and a smile tugged at his lips, and he almost felt he was going to burst into hysterical laughter right there without a single care for what others thought of him. But then he noticed the other hand which wasn't his, which was pushing the box into his hands. That hand must be the culprit for why Arthur had actually managed to get the box at all. His gaze followed the large hand, to a wrist, and an arm clad with a plaid shirt sleeve, following the plaid pattern up to a broad shoulder, which then went to a defined collarbone behind a tight jumper (and did that jumper seem to also emphasise some wonderful stomach muscles?) which then lead to a neck that supported a head with a sun-kissed face sporting a pearly white grin and the brightest azure eyes Arthur had ever seen.

The owner of the hand continued to grin as he spoke, "Sorry, but you seemed like you needed a little help there." Arthur grimaced at the American accent, but was at least thankful that it wasn't a Southern American one. He really couldn't stand those.

"Yes, uh, thank you, I suppose." Arthur sniffed, turning to place the box in the trolley, thankful that it was finally there.

"I'm Alfred!" the American continued to say, holding out his hand to Arthur as the Briton turned back around, "Alfred F. Jones!" Arthur just eyed the hand, quite hesitant to take it – afraid of not knowing what would happen if he did. It was silly, really, but Arthur was an overly-cautious man.

"That's…interesting." Arthur replied, wondering when the protruding hand would just go away.

Alfred laughed, amused by the Brit's awkwardness, "And you are?" He pushed his hand further towards Arthur, until he had the man backed against his trolley with no escape.

Arthur furrowed his thick brows, cleared his throat, and hesitantly took and shook the hand, "Arthur Kirkland."

Alfred whistled, his blue eyes wide, "Whoa, fancy name there, Arthur Kirkland."

"Cheers." Arthur replied, turning back to his trolley, "But now, if you'll excuse me, I have to-"

"Need any more help?"

Arthur blinked, "Pardon?"

Alfred chuckled heartily, "Help. Need any more of it? Y'know, to reach stuff."

"Oh!" Arthur smiled, "Oh, no, that's quite alright. Thank you anyway, uh…Alfred." And with that, he walked away, only half-listening to the reply of "Anytime, Arthur". He was too busy being embarrassed. Embarrassed that he was so short, embarrassed that God and the supermarket were laughing at him, embarrassed that he couldn't even reach for teabags, embarrassed that a certain individual fellow shopper had embarrassed him further by helping him, and embarrassed by the fact that he had found said certain individual shopper to be quite charming and good looking.

Why did this have to happen twice in the same day? Again, God and the supermarket were laughing at him. Again, his desired item was on the highest shelf. Again, he was too short to reach it. Again, it was one of his favourite delicacies (scones) so he couldn't leave it behind. Again, he had to suffer embarrassment.

He let out a repressed whine, narrowing his eyes at the bag of scones atop the shelf, annoyed, straining his toes as he got on the tips of them, only managing to brush his fingertips across the plastic of the bag, and a scarlet blush was creeping to his cheeks due to anger and humiliation. Why, oh why hadn't he brought stilts on his shopping trip, or something else that would make him gratifyingly taller?

Speaking of tallness, a rather familiar looking hand slithered out of nowhere, and pushed the bag off of the shelf into Arthur's waiting hands. Arthur looked up to his side, and, sure enough, that Alfred boy was there again.

"I thought you said you didn't need my help anymore." he laughed, and Arthur could do nought but stutter.

"Well, I…that was before I, w-well, I mean…I should have known that I…but I didn't, and now…" Arthur cleared his throat for a second time that day, "Ah, thank you again, A-Alfred."

Alfred smiled a dazzling smile, "No problem, Arthur." he then scratched at the nape of his neck and looked around from behind his silver spectacles somewhat nervously, "So, should I…y'know, follow you around?" Arthur hummed in response, confused. "So that I can help you after all; I mean, if your shopping trip isn't over."

Arthur looked down at his shopping list and frowned at how much he still had to get. He exhaled and looked up into Alfred's (hopeful? Was there a glint of hope in those cerulean orbs?) eyes, "Sorry, but I guess I could borrow your height."

Alfred laughed again (he seemed to do a lot of that), "No sweat. Let's take a look at what you've got to get." Alfred leaned in to look at the list, and Arthur's face pinked considerably at the close proximity he had with this dashing man, "Dude, your handwriting is as fancy as your name." Alfred grinned, "Oh, and you need cat food. What, you got a cat?"

"Ah, yes. Crumpets, my Scottish Fold." Arthur replied, smiling fondly at the thought of his furry companion which was probably waiting impatiently for his return back at the flat.

"Man, what a coincidence!" Alfred beamed, "I have a cat too!"

"Oh?" Arthur smiled, deciding to betray his usual anti-social demeanour and actually get chatting for once, seeing as he was going to be spending the rest of his time in the supermarket with Alfred, "What's its name?"

"Hero!" Alfred replied gallantly, "He's super cute! Oh, which reminds me…"

"Hmm?" Arthur prompted, "What does it remind you of?"

"Well…" Alfred chuckled nervously and bit his lips, scratching at the nape of his neck again (and was that a hint of red rising to his cheeks?), "…you looked kind of cute when you were struggling to reach the top shelves."

Arthur felt his face heat up, and he snapped his head around in hopes that Alfred wouldn't see the brilliant shade of red painting his otherwise pale face, "I-is that so?"

It was silent for a while then. Well, silent apart from the squeaking of the trolley wheels against the tiled floor anyway. That is, until Alfred broke that by mentioning Arthur's chosen teabags and scones and pointing out how British he was, to which Arthur replied with a swat of the hand and a bugger off as he explained that he just appreciated the tastes, which then prompted Alfred to say that he preferred the taste of coffee and hamburgers, and Arthur clicked his tongue as he shared his disdain for McDonald's, and Alfred retaliated that Arthur shouldn't badmouth American cuisine when British cuisine was no better. And Arthur supposed that somewhere along that line was where Alfred had invited him out for a day of American cuisine, followed by a walk around the park to get up their appetites before trying out British cuisine, just to see whose was better, and Arthur had accepted, not really seeing it as a date or anything that would lead to numerous dates, although it was, and it did.

And that, he supposed, is how he ended up with an American lover. And as he sat on the sofa, watching Marvel: Avengers Assemble (under Alfred's insistence) whilst huddled up with Alfred's arm wrapped around him, keeping him warm, and those azure eyes and that dopey smile radiating out of the corner of his green eyes, he realised that maybe he didn't hate the supermarket that much after all.

Author's notes: Yes, I know that I have other oneshots to get on with, and yes, I know that I have chaptered stories I need to press on with. Alas, I was not in the mood for oneshots which described the surroundings in great detail, nor was I in the mood for chapters with excessive dialogue. I was in the mood for something short and sweet - nothing else would satisfy my writing urge - so I could not resist staying up till 5am on a college night to write this baby. And so, if you spot any mistakes, please remember that I was dying for sleep in the midst of writing this, and forgive my sleep-deprived mind.
I hope they're in character. I somehow feel that Arthur wasn't grumpy enough (Sorry, Arthur, but you are a grump!), but I still like him in this anyway. It's nice to see him being friendly. And about the cats' names: I got them from another story. It's called It Just Is, by chibitalex, and it's absolutely splendid (although, I warn you, the updating pace is very slow). I suggest you go and read it if you haven't already.
Critique is welcomed, comments are appreciated!
Thank you and enjoy!

Disclaimer: Arthur and Alfred belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.

AnorexicWalrus~