The oppressing heat rained down upon the two blondes, lounging on the coral red hotel chairs. The vibrant canary yellow of the room happened to be particularly annoying that morning. The upholstery stuck to their skin while the air smothered them with humidity. It was almost similar to the experience of being glued to a hot grill. A small complimentary electric fan, sitting atop the side table, was turned to its highest setting. It was wheezing and practically steaming from its frequent use. And Alfred Jones with his legs dangling over the backside of the chair was utterly bored. His glasses were mere inches away from falling onto the cream carpet. Honey tresses grazed the hotel floor as he twisted his head this way and that, attempting to entertain himself.

"You look ridiculous and your posture's horrendous," Arthur critiqued as he lit a cigarette.

Alfred scoffed and stole the cigarette from Arthur's chapped lips, much to his indignation. "Oh, yea? Look at you. Wouldn't exactly call that 'proper' mister gentleman," referring to the slumped position the other was in, gangly legs hung over the arm of an equally obnoxious chair. A sigh. Alfred knew he had won; Arthur would have bit back with an insult by now.

"Whatever," Arthur said, now seemingly bored with the conversation. Slowly rising from the troublesome perch, he slunk onto the carpet and crawled closer to Alfred. They were practically a breath apart. Well, a breath and a smoke apart.

Still upside down, Alfred looked over every freckle, every contour, as though they were part of a map leading to only the most sought-after treasure.

Arthur had noticed the needy and possessive stare. He leaned in close, whispering the lyrics of some old summer song. Each small breath sent shivers down Alfred's spine. To his disappointment, Arthur stole back his cigarette without so much as a kiss. A small smirk grazed Arthur's face, lingering even after he brought the prize to his lips.

"And here I thought you were in the mood," Alfred huffed. Downy grey clouds of smoke floated towards him to dance in the pale morning light, dying as another breath was drawn. With Arthur by the window, enough light filtered through the blinds to give him a soft ethereal glow. He was so deeply and absolutely enraptured.

The small moment of peace was interrupted by Arthur sauntering over to a now right-side up Alfred. He stayed briefly on the sun-kissed skin, tracing the indents and curvatures of muscle with his hand. "Perhaps I am. Perhaps I want to remind you what the end of our summer will bring, Jones."

Ah, the ever constant reminder. Alfred did not, above all, want to think of fall. No, he was more satisfied with pulling Arthur down onto his chest.

"I know, but I can change your mind." Bright, diluted green eyes looked to him, almost like a cat to its prey.

"So sure are we?"

He was. Alfred ran a hand through the wheat blonde hair before him, stopping only to pepper gentle kisses along a sunburnt shoulder. He caressed Arthur's face, he nuzzled Arthur's neck, he filled himself to the brim by relishing in every aspect of Arthur that he could.

"And if all you've done, all you've felt was in vain? What will you do?"

Softly, Alfred pressed his lips to each knuckle of Arthur's hand. "I'll die." He spoke with such conviction and sternness, the room grew cold for a second.

"You can't." Alfred could hear the twinge of fear in that. It seemed like for the first time, Arthur showed some other emotion besides lazy content.

"It's too late now, I don't want a life that doesn't have you in it."

Huffing, Arthur slipped out of Alfred's grasp. "You should learn. This is only a fling, it means nothing."

Alfred hesitated a moment with his fingers only inches from grasping Arthur's wrist. He let his hand rest instead on the chest of his summertime lover, feeling the soft yet steady heartbeat. "You'll see." Sliding his hand lower to grace Arthur's waist, the other hand swept up the rest. Alfred took his time walking to the honeycomb yellow bed they shared. Gently, he lowered Arthur into the masses of sheets.

"I'm not made of glass Jones. I can walk."

Alfred shrugged. "I know. And I told ya, you can call me Al." He inched closer, only to be rebuffed with Arthur moving farther away.

"And I told you not to get attached, but I can tell that you're already too far gone..."

"Maybe you should get attached, we can float somewhere far away."

Perhaps for a moment, Arthur thought of such a wonderful possibility: the two of them adrift in the ocean, isolated from humanity with only one another. The taste of salt from the ocean, the smell of the bitter sea, the feeling of the reflecting sun in the waves. It wasn't hard to imagine them together, hands intertwined, floating on water clearer than glass. In fact, Alfred's intense eyes staring at him looked like a small ocean itself.

But the look he gave Alfred was cold, unrelenting. Almost as if to shrug off that far away feeling as though it were nothing than foam.

"I-I can't Alfred."

And that was that.