Love. It's such a silly thing, when one thought about it. It's just a feeling, like happiness or sadness, apathy or lust. Perhaps it was simply because of its serendipitous side-effects that people tend to make a big deal of it. Arthur definitely didn't comprehend the human obsession with love, and the fools who believed in love at first sight? Ridiculous. There was a point in his life where Arthur would have fervently argued that subject. He would have vehemently denied that any such emotion could change one's life unless one let it. He would've said that you couldn't just change by looking at a person, that their very existence would shape your sappy life around their silly little world, that a single glance at another person could ever set your heart afire in a heavy, unexplainable need to be in that person's life. Anyone who had half a brain could see that clearly it was impossible to change a person by the mere existence of some other human. It was impractical. He kept reminding himself that thses were Americans. In any case, he didn't know how blubbering around like an idiot with the same constant face on your mind could possibly be a good thing. No, he was much worldlier than that. That is what he would've said. What he had, for the majority of his life, believed so strongly one could've considered it religion. But that was before fate decided to pay him a visit.

Yes. He had been wrong, severely wrong, not that he liked to admit it. He had been so wrong that very God could've smited him right where he'd been sitting when he'd had the revelation with a big fat 'I told you so'. He had never imagined it before, sitting calmly in his favorite Starbucks, sipping at a fresh-brewed caramel and vanilla late, that a human so blinding, positively jaw-dropping would strut in through his favorite coffee shop and make him nearly choke to death on his late, (which would've been a disappointing waste). But somehow, it had happened. Not the death part, of course.

His textbooks had begun to get rather dull that morning, so his attention had been mainly focused on his delicious, caffeinated vanilla caramel blend. It was delectable, really. Tea was good – but this, this was heaven on Earth. Americans had at least gotten one thing right. Their coffee. He figured that this was why they were mostly obese. Oh how he loved his vanilla late. He swore religiously to his vanilla caramel late with the fluffy, sugar – filled whipped cream floating above the delectable vanilla heaven. His study sessions always consisted of his notes with a steaming vanilla caramel blend perching at the top, left-hand corner of his desk. Oh yes, his coffee was his dearest best friend.

The bell above the door gave a slight little jingle as the door opened. He guessed the purpose was to celebrate Christmas or something. It was only a few weeks away now... He would have to get Peter something so the boy wasn't disappointed. The door had let in a terrible draft, and the daft prat who let it in was still hanging in the doorway, letting all the precious heat escape into the cold desert. Arthur sighed irritably, shivering in his thin shirt and vest. Being the man he was, he didn't bother looking up to glare at the boy holding open the door, he didn't bother laying eyes on him before he even picked up his half-drank late. Maybe the next few moments of his life wouldn't have been such a frantic train wreck. But he hadn't. He gave his book one last glance before he grabbed his late, standing up from his chair. He re-read the line he'd been skimming over blankly.

In 553 B.C Cyrus II overthrew the Median king and….

Ah, whatever. He was getting a bit peckish. Sitting around doing nothing will do that to you, didn't you know?

So, completely oblivious, he walked to the cashier and mulled over the choices. On one hand they were all very enticing and then on the same note they all looked rather…unappetizing. What did one have to do not to have to eat something filled with sugar and caked with preservatives in America? A lot apparently. He'd scanned over the choices a few moments, shivering in his boots because that damn kid still had the door open, screaming for his friends to hurry their asses up and get inside. Two more had come in; Arthur could hear their obnoxious chattering. The boy was waiting on one more still. Bloke must be impervious to the riveting twenty degrees outside. Arthur decided that a cookie would suffice until he got home and made something better…or less sugary at any rate. Everyone knew his cooking wasn't the best.

The clerk gave him his cookie and Arthur turned, heading back to his table. He sat down, taking a bite of the chocolate chunk scone. He frowned at the taste. It was hard, depraved of moisture and too stiff to hardly chew. It was probably from the cold. He took a drink from his late, and finally looked up at the door, wondering who in the world would still be holding the door open like a blasted fool. He inhaled sharply, beholding the marvelous sight before him- momentarily forgetting his steamy late pouring into his throat.

And there it was.

The moment where Lady Fate full on bitch slapped him across the face. He would be the one fool who was choking to death as the one creature that could ever hope to get him believe in the foolish notion of love at first sight had waltzed into view.

Arthur's throat closed with the heavenly vice and cut off all his air- which often occurred when choking. He winded himself trying to get the blasted stuff out and his eyes watered slightly at the sting on the roof of his mouth and in the back of his throat. But, for some reason, he had been too caught up on the glorious creature holding that door wide open to worry about the possible death he could be facing at the moment. Oh that face. It was the perky face of an angel, smooth and beautifully perfect with every crease and curve. Those adorable glasses pushed up as far as they could go on the bridge of his nose, that heavily bundled body, tall and long and completely, beautifully, wholly sexy. Oh what was he thinking? He couldn't believe himself, looking down at his late (that was now cleared from his throat). What was he saying? He couldn't believe that the words had ever crossed his mind. He'd never, not once in his life, found anyone who looked remotely attractive at a coffee shop (or anywhere really), but that boy there had done it. No…he wouldn't believe it. And then he looked back to the boy and there was no way he could deny it. Those hands, now ungloved, were long and pretty, but they were worn as if they were overused, and still retained their youthful softness. That smile on his face damn near made the sun look like a feeble light bulb flickering on the last bit of juice. Even from this distance, Arthur could make out the shockingly blue of his eyes. He was stunning. He was jaw-dropping alright. And if not for Arthur's practiced calm he'd have sworn his jaw had hit the floor by now.

That man there, that man, (Arthur knew his fondness of men wasn't just a phase by now. No, it was a full on attraction.) had captured his hesrt in his slim, pink fingers. He hadn't even done anything except hold the door open like a daft fool, completely oblivious to his perfection. If anything Arthur should be annoyed completely that he was shivering from the cold – everyone else certainly was. But he was stunned. Too stunned. So stunned, even, that he didn't notice the buzzing phone sitting in his pants pocket. To stunned to be completely furious like he was all the time with everyone. But how could you be angry at a face like that? It was infeasible. He couldn't possibly...no.

He'd nibbled at his distasteful cookie after that, wondering what in the world he was going to do about that sexy boy over there. Should he do anything? He couldn't let him just leave...could he? He shouldn't do a thing. He should just stay here and continue studying for the test after lunch. But...He didn't know if he could take watching the boy walk out of the coffee shop without contact of some sort. But he wasn't going to approach him. No, he didn't even know the bloke. His mind must've been somewhere else at the moment, because all of his ideas were turned to pot. So, being sensible, he hurriedly gathered his books, shrugged on his coat, gloves, scarf, and hat; and scurried over to the door, careful not to forget his deadly late. Arthur squeezed past the crowd at the front of the shop, wary of any contact whatsoever. He had no intention of dropping his arm-fulls of books. People divided slightly in the Brit's furious wake, but not nearly enough. He stumbled, and the force knocked him straight to the door that was letting in the bitter cold.

"Ouch." He muttered at the harsh elbow to his ribs. He just could not believe how brash these Americans were; it never ceased to amaze him. But that was far from his mind now, because as he drew himself right, he came face to face with his newfound angel. Arthur immediately felt himself blanch gazing into those pristine blue eyes of his. There he was, decked out in a black overcoat with the barest hint of a painfully patriotic American flag hoodie beneath. Something in Arthur's mind attempted a half-assed snarky comment, but the thought died before he could finish the first few syllables. Up close he could see a tiny little disobedient prick of hair, sticking waywardly away from the boy's head. Now that was adorable. How could he mention something snarky about that face?

Where had his sense gone...? He had no clue, nor any sense of mind to keep moving. The boy looked down at him and gave him that astonishingly bright smile. Arthur was beyond himself, and he was sure that there was something begging him to press forward out into the bitter cold, but there was nothing that seemed particularly inviting outside. It was twenty degrees and there was a snowy gale brewing outside, and...and...Well quite frankly this angel was in here, not out there. He tried to convince himself.

Then the brighter sense of his mind piped up. That was contact right? Eye contact...? It was enough for Arthur. Common sense had kicked in. And it was about time. Arthur needed to get moving before the moment became awkward. So, straightening his flimsy spine, he scurried out the door with only his hot, flushed face to keep him warm in the brutal cold.

Oh yes, love was a silly thing when one really stopped to think about it. But there isn't any explanation for something such as love-and the more you ponder and mull upon the subject, the more befuddled and misguided you become. It was a new concept to Arthur, at the time. To him there wasn't much that a human couldn't understand. Plus, at the moment he was still in the vice of denial's crippling grip. He'd thought he'd had it all under control, that it would be something that he would easily understand all in due time and that it was a feeling that would eventually fade away and he would deal with it like any other number of his problems. No, it couldn' be love. How foolish was that? But he was ever so wrong, as became a common theme with this American boy, he would come to find out.

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