#Alfred is honestly pleased to hear from his partner and to meet their children

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 74

When a new black-haired blue-eyed person appeared in the manor, one could easily be forgiven for thinking that Bruce’s adoption problem had struck again. So color many a batkid surprised that no, this kid isn’t a new sibling, no he didn’t get grabbed from the street, and actually he’s here for Alfred. Apparently Alfred never found it important to mentioned that he has a husband- that the kid kind of implies isn’t human what with the casual way he says he himself is half human- and that this kid is apparently their child. For once it’s Bruce’s turn to come home to a surprise sibling. 

Danny on the other hand just learned that his Clockpa has a semi-mortal partner who has offered to take him in, (in another dimension even! And there’s aliens!!) while the ancient takes care of some stuff at home. And yeah it’s in a rich-manor but Sam has proved that not all rich people are evil, and based off of Mr Pennyworth’s stories the Waynes weren’t bad either. Though based off of the others’ reactions perhaps he should wait to mention that there wasn’t one new family member but three…

[beesonestopcurioshop]

Safe

Note: This is my second Drabble attempt. I actually like this one better than the first. This one was for my dear friend @boogiewrites I hope you all like it! The prompt I was given is number 14 from this list. I’m also posting from mobile again, so disclaimer I can’t add a keep reading bar lol.

Warnings: Some violence. Yelling. Knives. Guns. Alfie Solomons.

Word count: 1410. Oops. I got carried away. 😂

Photo Credit: Quick google search.

••

Josephine took a deep breath. The smell of London infiltrated her nose. It was very harsh and city-like. She loved it. It made her feel at home. Safe. Even in the midst of the chaotic bustling energy. She wanted to go for a walk and see where her feet led her. It hadn’t been long since she had been back. Just long enough for things to change. It would be nice to get acclimated again.

Something felt different than before. Unstable. Kinetic. Combustible if handled incorrectly. New hands laid in power for different sections of the city. There were whispers of three brothers coming in and taking over a nightclub. The Shelby brothers making a grand entrance into London life. If they were anything like what she had heard, they would fit right in.

Walking through Little Italy was a dangerous game to be played. Especially when the Italians knew your face and didn’t approve of the company you kept. She had to fight off the urge to roll her eyes into her next life. Darby Sabini had always been around. He probably would be, or at the very least his legacy, until the end of time. He was an insufferable little man. He was definitely a thorn in a lot of people’s sides.

The one rise to power that did not surprise her one bit, was one Captain Alfred Solomons. Or Alfie as he liked to be addressed. Alfie ran a tight ship. He always had. She was excited to see him again. In his element, but in a different manner.

Jo walked around taking in the things that had changed, and things that stayed the same. In this day and age, businesses came and went. Especially with the people who actually ran the city versus the elected officials.

The bakery she was looking for wasn’t far. She had noticed a tail on her a while ago in little Italy. Sabini most likely already knew she was back. She was surprised he didn’t know the moment her feet touched London soil.

Josephine was livid at the audacity of Sabini’s men following her into Alfie’s territory. These were newer faces, so they probably only had the shadow of a story about her. So she let them tailing her slide. They appeared to have been employed long enough that they should have known their boundary lines better.

Coming up on the bakeshop she could see that there was a side alley. It was perfect for making her point. She made a quick duck into the side street and placed her back up against the bakery wall. She reached into the waist belt on her dress for her knife while she patiently waited.

One of them jogged by. She let him pass. They were panicking that they had lost her. ‘Good. Let those fucks flounder.’ She moved to the other wall of the alley. If they circled back around, which she was sure they would, she wanted to get the jump on them.

Hearing one set of dress shoes slapping against the walkway she counted the seconds as he got closer. ‘Three, two,’ she struck out onto the walkway and gripped his collar tight. She pulled him violently into the side street and pushed him against the wall with her knife at his throat.

“Why the fuck does Darby Sabini have a shitty tail on my heels? Huh?!” The edge of her knife pushed into his neck harder the more she jumped toward him. He pleaded in Italian. He honestly seemed like he was about seventeen.

“Oh, are you the one they sent without a gun? You haven’t even lost your training wheels yet, boy.” Jo leaned backward with a light laugh as his eyes widened.

“They really didn’t tell you a damn thing about who you were following, did they?” She heard a door open and close behind her. It must have been the big side door to the bakery. Alfie would most certainly be out here in two minutes flat.

“Hey! Let him go! I’ll shoot you and not think twice!” A quivering voice shouted from the mouth of the alley.

“Oh, will you? Did Darby tell you to do so on another man’s land? Stupid move boy.” Jo backed up, allowing the other boy to move to safety.

She watched as the one with the gun assessed his partner to make sure he was okay. They had to have been brothers. The slightly older one was worried sick. He didn’t hide it well. His worry told her he could very well have pulled that trigger. She felt sympathy for the boys. That was until the older one opened his mouth.

“Sabini will hear of this! Your head will be on a pike in front of Alfie Solomons’s business by tomorrow morning.”

“Oh plea…,” she didn’t get the chance to finish. The doors behind her opened up with a cacophony of sliding and slamming. There was a fury behind the motion.

“Gentlemen! Right, you know you’re not supposed to be over this way, right? I have a meeting with this lovely lady here, and I don’t think Sabini would like hearing that his… boys got caught would he?!” Josephine smiled darkly pleased at the voice booming through the lane. It sounded like a god had descended upon the passageway ready to pass judgment.

“Boys, if I were you? I would toddle along. You can say I went out for a walk, and then went home to my flat. Darby doesn’t have to know any different.” Ollie came up beside her to gently usher her backward toward the side door. Normally this would aggravate her, but she let him lead her to Alfie’s office. She hadn’t even been back for 24 hours and she had already caused a stir. She calmly took a seat on the couch in his office.

“Thanks, Ollie. Good to see you again, mate.” Jo smiled and Ollie looked helpless. He knew she was in for it. The thundering footsteps that climbed the stairs confirmed just as much.

“Fuck off Ollie! Right fucking now.” Alfie commanded. Josephine gave Ollie a wink to let him know she would indeed be okay through the storm she had created.

“You know, yeah. When I told you last to get my attention when you got back to the city, right, I did not mean almost START A FUCKING WAR.” Alfie roared. His eyebrows came down over the bridge of his nose and his lips curled inward in a snarl. She sat there determining her next move. A small huff of a laugh escaped her.

“You think this is funny?” The roar continued.

“No, Alfie. I don’t. If Darby didn’t have children doin’ his grunt work, maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about someone noticing and potentially causing a problem. Especially someone he knows can, will, and has caused issues before when slighted.”

“Look if you wanna get shot so bad, I'll shoot you, right?!” His hand landed on his gun. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought he would shoot her right where she sat.

“Look, Alfie. I wasn’t actually going to hurt them. I was just getting a point across that I don’t appreciate being followed.” Jo stood and made her way over to Alfie. She gently placed her hand over the top of his on his gun. She ran her fingers across the back of his tattooed hand hoping to reign in the beast.

“You and I both know that I’ve suffered worse than a gunshot.”

“Yeah, well I’ll be damned if you have to ever again under my rule. Right outside of my bakery, yeah.” He sighed heavily through his nose. Josephine would be the death of him one of these days. He called it back in the war, and it still stood to this day.

She grinned at his grumpy face. The dimples in her cheeks peeking out, melting his irate nature the smallest bit.

“If there’s anywhere I know I’m safe, it’s here.” She raised her right hand, “I, Josephine the magnet for trouble, solemnly swear that I’ll behave to the hardest degree of my ability.” She paused and took in his cantankerous visage. “Now hug me, you grouchy man.” She pulled him in, gripping him tightly. She hadn’t realized how much she missed him.

The door opened behind them, Ollie peeking through. “Sorry to interrupt, but Thomas Shelby is here to see you, Alfie.”

••

I hope you all enjoyed this as well!! 🧡🐝

Taglist: @boogiewrites @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes @deanscroissant @justanothershelby @parochialism @hazelnmae @reyloshipper-starwars @smallheathgangsters

[cryptids-and-muses]

I had a weird and/or awesome idea for a bat family story.

I don’t think I’m gonna actually write it but I felt like sharing the outline and ideas for the story. This is a mix of a few continuities because I do what I want, and have trouble keeping everything straight. Feel free to add stuff or make suggestions. Now strap in cause I have some thoughts.

So this guy in Gotham is experimenting with transdimensional technology. Oracle discovers what he’s doing and how dangerous it is so she sends the bat family after him. Nightwing, Red Hood, Spoiler, Red Robin, Black Bat, and Robin go after this guy but he sets off a machine and transports them to a different dimension. The main difference of this dimension is that the Graysons never died which set off quite the chain of events, but our heroes don’t know that yet. Cut to this universe’s Batman finding a gaggle of people ranging from early teens to their twenties dressed in weird costumes smoking in a crater. Not to mention a few of them have bats on their chest. This Batman never had a partner outside of Alfred so when they try to explain who they are it doesn’t go great because Batman can’t even imagine working with one kid let alone six. Then he starts to realize a few of these people seem familiar.

In this universe, Dick would have lived with his parents a bit longer but would have eventually been taken by the Court of Owls to become their Grey Son and new talon. Bruce recognizes him after a while because he’s fought him before. It takes a little because he acts drastically different from his unfeeling counterpart in this universe but Bruce probably figures it out after seeing him do some acrobatics, or hears one of the others call him ‘Grayson.’ The realization is pretty jarring for Bruce and it’s really unsettling to see the cold soulless assassin he knows so full of life. He doesn’t tell the bat family that he knows his universe’s Grayson, because that's totally something Batman would do and fun plot stuff later.

He doesn’t know who Jason is AT ALL. He still meets him the same way in this universe but doesn’t take him in. There’s no role of Robin to fill and he has no idea how to care for a child. Bruce does send him to the wayward school for boys but doesn’t really check up on him after that. The whole event becomes a sort of weird story like “remember that one kid who tried to steal tires off the batmobile?” What happens Jason afterward is harder to figure out. Maybe he became a low-level street criminal or a gang leader or ended up in jail. I can’t quite figure it out. What Batman does know is that the boy he meets is using the Joker’s old alias, carries a lot of guns, and looks like he won’t hesitate to use them. None of which is painting a very good picture. This could lead to a cool moment where Bruce, unaware of Jason’s Tragic Backstory™ and fragile truce with his family (Jason is gonna be a lot closer with his siblings in this au), yells at him for this and the others defend him.

Batman probably recognizes Spoiler first. Stephanie would have still gone after her father and created the spoiler persona, even without the inspiration of Robin. However, she wouldn’t have anyone to train her and Batman would be actively discouraging her from going out as Spoiler. That’s not going to stop Steph from being Spoiler but she probably doesn’t operate on a large scale like she does as part of the batfamily. Not only does she have to avoid villains in this universe but also Batman because he doesn’t think she should get involved in vigilante work and tries to stop her when he can. So he sees this version of Steph in a higher tech version of her Spoiler costume and is just so exhausted.

Tim still totally knows who Batman is in this universe. He may not have had Robin to compare to the Grayson’s acrobatics but he would have figured it out somehow. That's where a lot of the similarities end though. Tim would still live with his parents (who are alive) and never really get involved with Batman directly. He became a vigilante because Batman needed a Robin, but here the role of Robin never existed. Tim probably still takes pictures of Batman and that hero worship never really went away. He’s also still an amazing detective even without any formal training. Bruce knows of Tim but doesn't figure out how much he knows, or that Red Robin is an alternate version of him.

Bruce also doesn't know who Cassandra is because he never met her. Her origin stays pretty much the same except she never joins the batfamily. She’d just be out on the streets doing her own thing, on the run from David Cain.

Now with Damian, things get interesting. Another slight change I’d like to make to the universe the batfamily land in is that Damian never left the League of Assasins. Damian has met and fought Batman on a few occasions but Bruse doesn’t know that Damian is his son. Partly because Damian keeps part of his face covered so he can’t see the resemblance. When he meets Robin he has a feeling he’s familiar but can’t quite place it. He realizes this is Talia’s son a little after he recognizes Grayson. Then there's the really intense exchange of “You’re Damian Al Ghul” “No I’m Damian Wayne!” This is extremely shocking for Bruce because of the realization that he has a son. That son is in the League of Assassins! His mother is Talia al Ghul! He has met said son and didn’t even know it! It sets off all sorts of emotions.

As for the actual story, aside from just the general shenanigans of Bruce interacting with the children of his alternate self and trying to get them home, I was thinking that it would start with the alternate universe’s Tim. In this universe Tim is still a genius detective, he’s just not as good because he doesn’t have the training. So he would start poking around in Gotham and discover a huge conspiracy linked to the Court of Owls and decided to figure out just how powerful they are and how deep the conspiracy runs. Cause investigating an all-powerful organization completely on his own with no training is the type of stuff Tim does Batman or no Batman. He only recently discovered the court and is still investigating it when the batfamily show up so Batman isn’t aware Tim knows about the Court or that he’s been looking into them. The Court finds out about Tim’s investigation and send Talon to kill him. The bat family then have to protect this universe’s Tim from Talon, who is Dick. This causes a lot of angst, drama, and family bonding as the batfamily figure out how this universe is different from theirs. I’d love for the other members of the batfamily to get roped into the story somehow too but I’m not sure how. I feel like this story has a lot of potencail and couldn’t just leave it in my head. 

Random Funny Stuff for this au

Dick named a lot of the equipment and stuff Batman uses so in this universe things would probably be named very differently.

Tim: We’ll need to use the bat computer.

Alt Bruce: The what computer?

Tim: You know? The large computer set up in the cave?

Alt Bruce: Yeah but you called it the bat computer.

Tim: Well what do you call it?

Alt Bruce: The computer.

Tim: …..that just feels wrong.

Damian: Yes I know this part of the cave. This is where we keep Batcow.

Alt Bruce: Where you keep what?!

Alt Barbra: My name is Detective Barbra Gordon. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t arrest you all right now.

Jason: Looks like Babs is a Badass in every universe.

Dick: Did you expect any less?

Jason: Honestly? No.

Alt Jim Gordon: *Sees the batfamily* Oh dear god they’re multiplying.

During the Talon fight

Talon: I am the Grey Son of Gotham.

Stephanie: Dick, sweetie, I know you like wordplay but this is low even for you. Get some better material.

Jason: Damn Goldie! When you go dark you don’t fuck around!

Tim: I thought if one of my siblings was going to kill me it’d be Robin. But not you Nightwing, never you.

Dick: I appreciate the attempt at humor but can we please focus.

Alt Bruce: I think my alternate self has a problem with adoption.

Jason: THAT'S WHAT WE KEEP SAYING!!!!

Alt Damian: I heard the bat was working with new warriors but looking at you now I doubt you are even worthy to die by my blade.

*Entire batfamily is silent for a moment before bursting into uncontrollable laughter*

Damian: Do I really sound like that?

Tim: He’s even worse than when the brat first showed up! I didn’t even think that was possible!

[amaranthinecanicular]

hardly a time for sobriety

Maybe too much eggnog? Maybe too much eggnog. Alfred, elementary math teacher extraordinaire, has had it bad for the high school AP English teacher ever since he subbed in for the elementary school librarian, but this is definitely the first time he’s told anyone about it. It’s also the first time he’s described it as having “the hottie hot hots for Professor Snack over there.” 

[Written for @sterndecorum (a million years late, as per usual) for the 2018 @usuknetwork Gift Exchange. I’m so sorry, but I hope you enjoy! Happy belated holidays!]

....

Maybe too much eggnog? Maybe too much eggnog. Like, Alfred has had it bad for the high school AP English teacher ever since he subbed in for the elementary school librarian, but this is definitely the first time he’s told anyone about it. It’s also the first time he’s described it as having “the hottie hot hots for Professor Snack over there.” Elizaveta, who teaches art, looks delighted. Kiku, the librarian, looks profoundly uncomfortable.

Alfred tries to grimace but it feels kind of sloppy on his face. “Don’t think I meant to say that. Too much eggnog?”

“Too much eggnog,” Kiku confirms. At the same time Elizaveta says, “Are you kidding? Not enough eggnog. I’ve had to watch you pine away every time Kirkland drops off lunch for his brother. You are ending my misery tonight.”

She hands Alfred another plastic cup of ‘nog while Kiku makes a despairing noise in the back of his throat. It is possible that Elizaveta has also had too much eggnog. Sober Alfred would probably be embarrassed to learn that his affections have been transparent for the last several months. Sober Alfred might also call it quits on the alcohol before he really makes a poor decision amongst all his coworkers and peers. Sober Alfred has left the building, thank god, because that guy is a drag.

He takes some fortifying gulps of his new drink and spies stealthily--he hopes it’s stealthy, he sure feels stealthy--on Arthur from across the faculty room, which was definitely not meant to accommodate this many drunk teachers. He’s chatting with the high school French teacher and the severe-looking middle school principal. (The holiday party is district wide this year. It’s a cutbacks thing.) It’s hard to tell if Arthur is enjoying the conversation or not. Mostly he’s scowling. It’s ten kinds of adorable. So is his stodgy old man sweater vest. Alfred wants to kiss his eyebrows.

“Please never say that again,” says Kiku in a strained voice. Whoops, that last part may have been out loud. Too much eggnog. He takes another sip anyway.

“Hey, s’your fault for calling in sick that day,” he says. September fourteenth, two PM, Alfred will never forget it. He walked the kids from math to the library and he thought hey it’s that one grumpy asshole and then the grumpy asshole spoke all soft and sweet to the kids and he read Charlotte’s Web so pretty and Alfred’s next thought was oh shit oh fuck I’m going to marry him someday. And that was completely sober. “Shame on you for marathoning the Silent Hill games so early in the school year. And also for not inviting me. No one but y’rself to blame.”

Kiku takes a grim sip of his tea. Yeesh, tea at a holiday party. “I am aware.”

Just then the French teacher laughs loudly enough for Alfred to hear it. A hand lands on Arthur’s shoulder. In the fuzzy recesses of his brain two stray thoughts connect with a spark: laughing and touching counts as flirting. The French teacher flirting with Arthur. The French teacher marrying Arthur, which would seriously impede Alfred’s plans to marry Arthur. The French teacher must die.

Well, okay, no, he doesn’t have to die die. But Alfred has to kill his chances. He mumbles something to Elizaveta and Kiku that might be an explanation or might just be drunken gibberish and he marches off in Arthur’s direction. The middle school principal is gone, off talking to a guy Alfred thinks might be the middle school Italian teacher. He wants to put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder like the French teacher did, but he doesn’t trust his buzzy fingers. His hands end up in his pockets instead. “Hey there, Mr. Kirkland. Fancy meeting you here,”

Arthur turns. So does the French teacher, but Alfred notices that peripherally. Maybe Arthur’s scowl softens a little to see him. Maybe that’s just Alfred’s drunk brain talking.

“Francis,” Arthur says to the French teacher, “Isn’t your presence required elsewhere?”

“And where would that be, mon cher?” says Francis, with a leer in Alfred’s direction. Arthur grits his teeth.

“Literally anywhere else.”

“Ah, yes, of course. An appointment I cannot miss. Joyeux Noël, my friends!” He flounces toward the refreshment table, and gives Alfred a wink on the way. It might be flirty, or it might be… a good luck wink? Is that a thing? He doesn’t really know, and he really doesn’t care. Arthur returns his attention to Alfred with a raised brow.

“Mr. Jones. Glad to see you’ve decided a conversation with me is preferable to staring.”

Ouch. Not so stealthy. “Ha, yeah. Didn’t want to interrupt earlier. So, are you and Mr. Frenchy an item, or?”

Okay, wow, not what he meant to say. Bad eggnog, no more eggnog. Luckily Arthur seems too appalled by the suggestion itself to be creeped out by Alfred suggesting it. “Good lord, no. Francis and I? The mere thought is repulsive. I may gag.”

“Oof, wouldn’t want that. Glad to hear it, though. I was worried.”

Arthur’s eyes snap up. Too strong? Maybe.

“Were you?” he says, and whoa, not too strong, apparently. Not too strong at all.

Alfred, smooth and confident in the way of the inebriated, says, “Wanna go to IHOP?”

....

The truth is it’s only half Kiku’s fault. The library incident wasn’t the first time Alfred met Arthur. For the past two years Peter Kirkland has been in Alfred’s rotating fourth and fifth grade math classes—a good kid, high energy and real bright—which meant parent teacher conferences with his brother and guardian. It’s… safe to say they didn’t get off on the right foot. Alfred has handled rude parents before. Whatever! Usually his incredible charm and wit were enough to makeup for it. But no, not with Mr. Kirkland. Mr. Kirkland was tenured, he had years of experience on naive little green-gilled elementary teacher Alfred, and in his professional opinion problem children like Peter needed to be disciplined rather than coddled, and quite frankly he did not think much of Alfred’s nonsensical, feel-good, soft-bellied teaching methods.

In response Alfred had maybe called him a crabby old geezer, and maybe mentioned something about teaching an old dog new tricks, and maybe that was all the PG version. Arthur Kirkland was nothing more to Alfred than a grumpy asshole. Albeit a grump with great bone structure and a sexy accent.

And then Arthur subbed in for Kiku, and everything was different.

“Here we are!”

Alfred sweeps into a bow and scoots Arthur’s chair out for him because he’s a gentleman. (At this time of night the IHOP is a seat yourself kind of establishment.) There’s cheery Christmas music playing over the speakers. Alfred wanted the corner booth—much more romantic—but some gooey-eyed teens are hogging it. Stupid gooey-eyed teens.

“Here we are indeed,” says Arthur. He’s eyeing the vinyl cushion like it carries a venereal disease. “Honestly, half the reason I agreed to come was because I wanted to see if you were taking the piss. But lo and behold: The International House of Pancakes.” He takes a seat. Gingerly. “That name always struck me as overly dignified for this establishment.”

“Hey, don’t hate. I eat breakfast here once a week.” The elementary school is across town, but it’s worth the drive. Thank god the high school is within walking distance. He adds, “So, that was only half the reason, huh? What was the other half?”

Arthur taps the side of his nose. “I’m very certain I’m not drunk enough to tell you.”

Alfred remembers, suddenly, what drink Arthur had been nursing at the Christmas party. He grins a slow grin. “You were spiking your tea, Artie?”

Arthur flushes, maybe because he’s a little drunker than Alfred thought, but probably because Alfred just called him Artie. Good idea, drunk Alfred.

“Only because conversation with Francis was otherwise intolerable. I much prefer talking to you.” He gets a look on his face like he just heard what he said, and he flushes even prettier. “Don’t get the wrong idea. A Christmas ham would be a better conversation partner than that frog.”

Any further research into how pink Alfred can make Arthur blush is interrupted by the arrival of their waitress. She’s new, a friendly girl named Michelle who smiles a lot and takes quick notes. By the time she’s got their order—a tea for Arthur, a little of everything for Alfred—Alfred has learned that she’s studying speech pathology, she’s home for holiday break, and that she got her sister a dinosaur building kit for Christmas.

“Oh sweet, what kind of dinosaur?” says Alfred.

“A ceratosaurus,” says Michelle.

“Ooh, deep cut! Nice!”

They high five. Alfred asks, “You don’t have any eggnog, do you?”

“I’m afraid not. We have eggnog pancakes, though, how does that sound?”

Arthur gags quietly. Alfred ignores this. “Sounds awesome! I’ll have an order of those too.”

After she walks away Alfred addresses the look on Arthur’s face. “Yes, professor?”

“You want to drink more of that swill?” he says, all dubious like.

“Dude! Eggnog is the drink of the season.”

“There are many drinks of the season. Sherry. Scotch. Brandy. Tea.”

“By that logic you’ll spend the whole holiday break completely sloshed.”

Arthur chuckles. “The holidays are hardly a time for sobriety.”

Alfred can’t really argue with that. “I’m pretty sure you drink tea all the time.”

“Because tea is a drink for every season.”

This is the moment that Michelle returns with the tea, because apparently she has a great sense of dramatic timing. Arthur prepares the cup and smirks at Alfred over the rim, as though that proves his point at all, and all Alfred can think about is how tea is a much more charming drink in Arthur’s hand than it is in Kiku’s. Alfred wants to know more about the kind of tea he drinks. He wants to learn how to make the perfect cup, so he can make it for Arthur every day. He wants to know Arthur’s opinion on coffee. What his favorite food is. If he likes cats or dogs. He looks like a cat person. What was his home life like? Where in Britain did he grow up? Did he always want to be a teacher? Alfred wants to know… everything. He never wants to stop learning about him.

He says, “Tell me more about yourself.”

Arthur goes very still. “Why?”

“Because this is a date.” Sober Alfred is pretty direct. Drunk Alfred isn’t much different.

Now Arthur goes very red. “I’m afraid there’s not much to tell.”

“That can’t be true. Why’d you come to America? Got tired of jolly old England?”

“My goodness, no. My heart will always belong to my dearest Albion.” Alfred suspects that’s an old nerdy name for England, but he can’t be sure. He’s a math whiz, not a history buff. “No, it was just typical family drama. Peter and I hopped across the pond to escape it. All very British, very boring.”

Maybe Arthur is a little more guarded as he says that. And wistful. The peppy Jingle Bell Rock has transitioned to the crooning I’ll Be Home For Christmas and suddenly Alfred is very sad. He wants to say so. He wants to say that Arthur’s family doesn’t deserve him or Peter, and that he can tell Alfred anything, everything, because he’ll never hurt him the way they did. But even smashed he can tell that Arthur doesn’t want to talk about it, so instead he says, “How is Peter?”

Arthur’s face softens. “A wee little shite, as per usual. He’s at a sleepover right now. But he’s doing better in maths, at least.”

He raises his cup in a small, half-ironic toast to Alfred’s awesome teaching skills. Alfred tries not to preen and isn’t so sure he succeeds.  “Yeah, well, he’s a good kid. They all are. They make my job easy.”

“I doubt that,” Arthur snorts. “But you are Peter’s favorite teacher, which is saying something. He absolutely hated maths before you came along.” His tone turns thoughtful. He rests his chin in his palm. “You’re good with him. Good with all of them, I see it when I drop off Peter’s lunch. Though I maintain that you could stand to be a little more disciplinary.”

“You’re good with them too,” Alfred says, high on a cloud of Arthur’s regard. “You subbed in for Kiku once. I saw you. It was really sweet, and I realized…”

This is what Alfred realized after he saw Arthur in the library: Mr. Tenured Teacher, Sir High and Mighty, Cynicism and Discipline Incarnate, is a huge fucking softie. He quilts, crochets, and embroiders. (Thank you Kiku, mutual friend with all the secrets.) He’s hard on his students but he refuses to let any of them fail. (Also Kiku.) He criticizes Peter and the quality of his education because he cares—like, really really cares. Alfred picked up on that himself. He brings the kid homemade lunch every day. He leaves him notes in his lunchbox. Alfred’s not proud to admit it but he peeked over Peter’s shoulder the one time he pulled one out in math. It read: Always cover your mouth when you sneeze or cough. I love you. Alfred is willing to bet every note has some banal tidbit of advice and closes out the same way. If he and Arthur got together, would Arthur slip him notes, too? I love you.

“You realized?”

Arthur is watching him, has been watching him, and his eyes are super green, all bright and Christmassy under the IHOP fluorescents. Alfred is pretty sure the teens in the corner booth are watching them now but he’s also pretty sure he doesn’t care. There are so many things he could say and they all crowd together in his throat, vying for favor. In the time it takes for him to pick the perfect one Michelle arrives with the food, and the moment passes.

A veritable feast of greasy breakfast foods lands on the table: pancakes, waffles, eggs. Bacon and sausage. Various assortments of fruit and butter and jam. Alfred nudges forward his eggnog pancakes. “Want a bite?”

Arthur grimaces. “Absolutely not. That looks utterly unappetizing.”

Alfred will not deny this. Most of the food is green for some Grinch promotional thing IHOP is doing, but hey, at least it’s festive. And delicious. Alfred says so.

“No thank you.” Arthur’s stomach says otherwise. “Well. Those eggs look edible, I suppose.”

They eat (Alfred eats, Arthur pecks) and they chat, and it’s magical. Arthur tells funny stories about Peter’s terrible twos, grudgingly and then not so grudgingly, and Alfred talks about his brother and his totally-not-pot farm in Canada.

He’s finally sobering up—all the greasy food helps—and the night never gets any less magical. It feels more magical somehow.

He says, “So, have I made you an IHOP convert?”

Arthur sighs, theatrically put upon. “I suppose it’s charming, in a slovenly way. Something like you.”

Alfred rolls his eyes. “Ooh, you’re making me blush. Tell me more.”

But Arthur doesn’t tell him more because he’s too busy giving the stink eye to something over Alfred’s shoulder. Ah. The booth teens. Alfred gives a very extremely subtle glance back… yeah, wow, they are going at it. Teenage hormones are no joke.

“Kids these days, honestly. They should be studying,” Arthur seethes.

“For what? It’s Friday and classes are over next week,” says Alfred, but before he can finish his sentence Arthur has struck like a god damn cobra and stolen a bit of hashbrown and chucked it at the booth. It occurs to Alfred that Arthur might still be pretty hammered. How much rum did he put in his tea, for real?

It plops square in a mug of hot chocolate. At a loss for what else to do, Alfred kind of shriek laughs. “Oh my god, are you twelve?”

He dares a peek back at the spluttering teenagers and then back to Arthur and--Arthur is shrugging at the teens and pointing at Alfred. “You are twelve! Traitor!”

He spoons whipped cream off the top of his hot chocolate and daubs Arthur’s nose with it. For a second Arthur looks fit to bust, and sure a drunken temper tantrum sounds cute but it might lose Alfred a chance at a second date. Then Arthur reaches over the table, scoops the whole pile of whipped cream from the plate of pancakes with his bare hand, and smears it all over Alfred’s face.

While Arthur is cackling, Alfred says, “Marry me.”

Arthur stops cackling. He stares, and under the weight of it Alfred sobers up the rest of the way all at once. Did he just ruin everything? Of course he did. Drunk Alfred, that dumbass, always ruins everything and now he’s going to die old and alone, dreaming about what could have been if only he hadn’t asked Arthur Kirkland to marry him in an IHOP.

“Snrk,” says Arthur.

That’s the sound he makes—snrk. Then he’s snorting, then he’s laughing, and it’s inelegant and undignified and Alfred is in love.

“So is that a yes?” he says, and Arthur gives him a narrow look. He wipes his face with a napkin—Alfred belatedly follows suit—and flags Michelle down for the check.

Arthur scoffs, “You think I’d say yes to a proposal on a first date? In the International House of Pancakes?”

He’s not mad. Alfred can hardly believe it. He still has a chance. “Hey, depends on the date.”

They split the bill. Arthur is the faster tipper so in return Alfred pays for the Uber. The teens are gone from the booth, though Alfred didn’t see them leave. They’re not in the parking lot either, which is good, because it would be super awkward to have to wait for the Uber with them.

The air is cold. They’re standing very near. The sky is heavy and close with clouds, but Arthur is watching it like he might see the stars beyond. After a second, Alfred does too.

He says to the sky, “Wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, either.”

And Arthur says to the sky, “Don’t push your luck, Mr. Jones. We hardly know each other. Even you can’t be that idealistic.”

There’s not enough liquid bravery left in Alfred’s veins to tell Arthur that he is.

The Uber arrives. Arthur offers to share, but Alfred lives too far from the high school to leave his car there. He opens the door for Arthur. He closes the door for Arthur. It’s stupid but the thought of saying goodbye to him right now—not forever, not even for a whole weekend—is breaking his heart. He doesn’t know how to end tonight. Doesn’t know if they’re leaving on a good note or a bad one.

“Ask me again.”

The window is rolled down. Arthur is watching him. His eyes are glowing and his cheeks are pink and his breath is misting in the air, so Alfred can see the exact shape of his words when he says, “Later. Much, much later. Many dates from now. In a restaurant that lives up to its name, and preferably when we’re not both completely crocked. Ask me again. Maybe then I’ll be as idealistic as you.”

Alfred can’t think of a single thing to say and so he doesn’t. He leans down and Arthur leans up and the angle is awkward because Arthur is dangling half out a window but Alfred is certain he’s never had a more perfect kiss in all his life.

Joy is light, effervescent. It fizzes and bubbles and buoys Alfred and he wonders if there was alcohol in those eggnog pancakes after all. He watches the tail lights twinkle off into the night, and then he turns to start the trek back to the high school. He’s going to have to wait out the last of the buzz in his car, but he can’t bring himself to feel too bothered. It’s the holidays, after all. Hardly a time for sobriety. Overhead, it begins to snow.