Many of the regulars during Arthur's late shift were severely confused. What happened to their confident, laid-back bar tender? The nervous expression he had whenever a new customer strolled in was not like him at all. And was that disappointment in his eyes when he returned his stare to the glistening table top and the sparkling glasses? It was almost as if he were waiting for someone.

Arthur himself was also confused. He shouldn't be this flustered over a hasty note on a torn receipt. And he certainly shouldn't have it in his pocket. He'd meant to throw it away. He really had, but then the spotless glasses needed another cleaning or the nearly empty bar required his complete attention. He found himself staggeringly busy. Too busy to walk to the rubbish bin and throw the blasted thing away.

If only he were occupied enough to stop thinking.

The hours were lazy in passing, rudely unaware of Arthur's anxiousness. At last the final customers bid Arthur farewell. It seemed he would be closing up early tonight.

In part, Arthur was relieved. Alfred F. "Now you know my name" Jones hadn't made an appearance; he wouldn't have to deal with him and all the weirdness he felt when he thought of him. However, falsely imagining that someone loves you, even if it's less than a day, isn't a pleasant feeling at all.

If he doesn't come back, I'll be the one in a doomed situation, he thought dryly. A flat chuckle escaped him.

He picked up the freshly used glasses on the counter and began washing them. His thoughts would amble from thought to thought, very rarely visiting his current task. Whenever he got too close to thinking of Alfred, he would shake his head vigorously and clean the now sterile glass with extra ferocity.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw the heavy door leading to the street open slightly, then fall back with a thump. The image of a brown bomber jacket and a blonde head blurred through the distorting glass of the front windows. Alfred was walking away.

The glass dropped out of Arthur's hands and landed with minimal damage on a washcloth in the sink.

That git, Arthur thought, scrambling to undo the simple latch of the short, swinging door that led to the customer side of the establishment. After a few seconds he gave up and hurdled it, landing a bit awkwardly on the other side. A few quick strides and he was out the door, his calculated steps dissolving into a run, driving irregular beats on the walk.

Quite sure that he was the perfect picture of a complete idiot, he stopped at a corner and looked frantically around. The intersection was cluttered with people and vehicles. Finding Alfred would be the equivalent of spotting Waldo in a moving picture. Arthur cursed quietly. The longer he looked, the less chance there was of finding him. He was about to give up when he noticed a figure standing beside him.

"Why so stressed?" asked a familiar American voice. Arthur looked up at Alfred and his wide, tentative grin.

"You came all this way and didn't stop to see me, wanker!" Arthur yelled over the noise of the street.

"I didn't think you'd want me too," Alfred admitted, running a hand through his hair and looking anywhere but at him. "You must think I'm a creep, pining after you like that."

"Don't be an idiot," Arthur told him sternly. "You had to start somewhere." The Brit shuffled his feet, feeling self conscious on the street in his work uniform. His nervousness had nothing to do with the American in front of him, what a ridiculous thought!

A hopeful look flickered in Alfred's face. "How about I get you a drink instead of the other way around?" he suggested.

"Like a date?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah," Alfred's childish grin returned in full force. "A date!"

Arthur nodded and looked down, but not fast enough to avoid Alfred's contagious smile. It tugged at the corners of his mouth like the love child of a tickle and an itch.

"You're too damn happy," he muttered.

Alfred beamed even more. "It don't think that's going to change any time soon."