Author's note: Btw, I honestly think there's just one sunny day in this story. Don't read it if overcast skies make you depressed. (No, I'm not trying to be subtle. I'm serious.)

Chapter 1

Alfred first met him on the bridge. The bridge was an old-fashioned stone one, just wide enough for one car at a time. It arched delicately over the narrow stream, and though there were plastic bottles and trash that lined the muddy banks, the bridge somehow made it all better. It turned the scene into something picturesque. The man with the messy blond hair, though, somehow didn't quite fit with the bridge, so that was why Alfred stopped and asked for his name.

"Arthur," Arthur said. His eyes were very green, though the thin light from the dimming sky made them seem faded. Blond, mussed hair fell across his forehead. He was leaning on the railing of the bridge, and before Alfred had spoken to him he had been looking down into the water. He was holding a pen and a pad of paper, but as Alfred drew nearer he quickly covered them up and put them in his back pocket. At this, Alfred stopped a few paces away and put his hands in his pockets.

"Arthur," Alfred repeated in a thoughtful way. "I'm Alfred," he added, as though it weren't important. He tilted his head to one side and grinned questioningly. "Have I met you before?"

"No."

"Yeah, I thought not." Alfred leaned on the bridge too and looked out at the scene before them.

"Then why did you ask?" Arthur was still looking at him defensively. Clearly he wanted Alfred gone.

"I was just curious about what you were up to, but it seemed rude to ask." Alfred grinned at him.

Arthur frowned. "If you want to know, ask."

"What are you writing?"

"Poetry."

"Oh?" Alfred perked up. "Can I read it?"

Arthur's mouth almost quirked into a smile. "Of course not."

"Aw, why not?"

"It's not finished."

Alfred hooked his feet through the lower railing and hung over the edge. He shook his head in mock-disappointment. "Excuses, excuses."

The smile kept tugging at the corner of Arthur's mouth. "It really isn't finished. And stop hanging off the railing like that."

"Or what, I'll break it? Or fall in?" Alfred grinned over at him and leaned out farther.

"And break your neck." Arthur looked away, but Alfred saw the smile. "Really, why did you stop to talk to me? What are you, a university student? Surely you have partying to be doing."

Alfred took his feet off the railing and leaned on it in a normal manner. "Not tonight. I was on my way to the pub for a beer, actually. You want to come?"

Arthur gave him a look as if he found the suggestion amusing, but he said, "Sure."

Alfred grinned. "Great."

The pub was visible from the bridge. It was an old-fashioned wood building with a little sign out front proclaiming its name. It fit perfectly with the stream and bridge, and there was even a dying willow on the stream's bank nearby. Even from a distance, however, it was obvious that the building was in a state of disrepair. At least inside it was warm, bright, and crowded. The noise of talking and laughter spilled out of the open door as they approached.

"You're right I'm in college, but I'm in my third year," Alfred said.

"Why are you here, then?" Arthur asked. "Semester abroad?"

"Transfer student, actually," Alfred said with a grin. "Here until I graduate."

"That's quite the commitment," Arthur said. Then they were at the door and there was too much chaos and noise for talk.

"Two beers," Alfred called out to the bartender. "Cheapest you've got." Arthur made a bit of a face when the bottle was placed in front of him, but he didn't complain.

They sat at the old oak bar on wooden stools and drank. "You can't be that much older than me," Alfred called above the noise.

"Maybe not, but it's still been a while since I was in university," Arthur returned. "What's in England for you? It's quite a ways from home."

"Wanted something different, I guess," Alfred said. Arthur heard all the subtle differences in his speech that said American, the ones that made the accent one he thought he would never be able to completely get used to. He also heard the tone and the lilt to the words that spoke of regret and a reason he wouldn't want to be home.

"I see," said Arthur.

"You know, I'm something of a writer myself." The lights of the room glinted off of Alfred's eyes.

"Oh? What sort?" Arthur asked carelessly. It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before: Oh, I write poetry on the side too. Well, not anymore, but I used to. Want to see some of it?

"Screenplays."

"Really?" That piqued Arthur's interest. "You want to be in the movie business?"

Alfred grinned. "Kinda. I guess I'm just not one for all the description that goes into books and stuff."

"Are you any good?"

Alfred tilted his head a little as he contemplated the blunt question. "I don't know," he finally said. "I'd like to be."

"Is that what you're studying?" Arthur asked.

"Pretty much."

They lapsed into silence and contemplated their beers. By the time the silence was broken, Arthur was quickly nearing the end of his.

"You know," Alfred said suddenly, "I like you. Do you want to go on a date somewhere sometime?"

Arthur's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He looked at Alfred. "Well, aren't you forward." Alfred just smirked. "Am I that obvious?"

"You're surprised?" Alfred asked curiously.

Arthur shrugged. "I'm used to being flirted with by girls."

"Well, they wouldn't know that it was useless, would they?"

"I suppose not," Arthur replied.

"You don't get hit on by men more frequently?"

"No."

"Huh," Alfred said. He sipped his beer and then raised an eyebrow at Arthur. "Well?"

Arthur contemplated this for a moment. "Sure."

Alfred grinned. "You'll go on a date with me?"

Arthur shrugged. "Why not?"

Alfred drank the last of his beer and set the bottle down with a clink. "Saturday, noon, on the bridge."

"That doesn't sound like much of a date," Arthur said dryly.

"It'll be a surprise," Alfred said with a wink. He stood and stretched. He gave Arthur a last look. "I'd give you my number, but I assume you'd just throw it away."

Arthur shrugged to say, Maybe, maybe not. "You have studying to do?"

Alfred grinned. "Pretty much. Catch you around." He clapped Arthur's shoulder as he walked past him and out the door. Arthur waited until Alfred was past him, and then he turned and watched him leave the pub. When he was gone, Arthur turned back to the bar, pulled the pad of paper out of his pocket, and began to write.

On Saturday, Alfred found Arthur at the bridge in the exact same place he had met him only a few days before. The sun was shining weakly through the clouds, but every now and then it hit the water directly and made it sparkle blindingly. This time, the pad of paper was already in Arthur's pocket by the time Alfred reached him. "Hey," Alfred said. "You ready?"

"As ready as I can be," Arthur replied. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see." Alfred jerked his head to indicate that Arthur should follow him. Alfred walked back across the bridge the way he had come, and Arthur fell into step beside him.

"How did the studying go?" Arthur asked.

Alfred laughed. "Fine. I had a test on Thursday. I aced it."

"What's the laughter for?"

"I didn't study for it."

Arthur gave him an amused, side-long look. "Have you done any studying since I last spoke to you?"

"Eh, debatable." Alfred grinned.

"So you're one of those kids," Arthur said, looking out at the sky with a slight smile.

"What does that mean?" Alfred asked.

Arthur seemed to think for a moment. "You either think your classes are too easy and breeze through them, or you simply don't care."

"So which one am I?" Alfred asked with a challengingly-raised eyebrow.

Arthur looked at him for a long moment. He smiled. "A little bit of both." Alfred laughed. "Was I right?" Arthur asked.

"Yup," Alfred said with a flash of white teeth. "Spot on."

"Your parents must be less than pleased that you left them to go across an entire ocean and not even care," Arthur said. He meant it as a jab to rile Alfred up and get him to say something revealing, but it had the opposite effect. Alfred's smile disappeared and he grew very quiet. They descended into an awkward silence. They were on a gravel and dirt path now, and the ground was slightly muddy beneath their feet.

"We're here," Alfred finally said. They had come to a stop in front of a small ice cream shop. Alfred's smile still hadn't returned, and he didn't even look at Arthur.

"You don't think it's a little cold for ice cream?" Arthur asked. It was more of a counter, really; there were no seats inside, just a couple of tables under a small awning.

"It's never too cold for ice cream," Alfred said. "Triple scoop: mint chocolate chip, strawberry, and chocolate decadence, please," he said to the vendor.

"Just the chocolate decadence for me, thanks," Arthur said.

They were given their cones. Alfred paid and then they went to sit at one of the cold metal tables. Arthur wrapped his coat more tightly around him as he bit into the ice cream. There was a bit of a chill wind, and the awning was little protection from that.

"So how long have you been writing poetry?" Alfred asked. He was hunched over a little, but otherwise acted as if he wasn't any colder than if it had been a sunny day. He was wearing a jacket, but it was unzipped.

"A long time," Arthur replied. "You?"

"High school. Before that I wanted to be a fireman." Alfred grinned and Arthur cracked a small smile.

"You have a hard time growing up?"

Alfred shrugged. "Maybe. People tell me I do." He licked his ice cream like a child, turning it around in a circle as if it were warm enough for it to melt. Somehow, though, it seemed almost like an act.

Arthur ate his ice cream delicately and looked out into the distance. "You must be terribly bored."

"Why do you say that?" Alfred looked at him with interest.

"School's not challenging enough, and to entertain yourself you ask me out." Arthur shook his head. "Maybe you didn't notice before, but I'm not very interesting."

"I disagree." Alfred was leaning forward and looking at him intently.

Arthur glanced at him side-long. "You only think I'm interesting because you don't know me. I'll save you some time. It's not worth the effort."

Alfred laughed. "I'm always being told I have an attention span of about five seconds. Trust me, though, once something catches my interest for any longer, I'm hooked." He was grinning, and even the grey sky couldn't seem to dull the blue of his eyes. "Trust me, honey, you're stuck with me until you reject me outright."

"Entertain me, then, if I'm stuck with you," Arthur said, and he was only half joking. "Tell me what the American does in his free time, here in this dull little place."

Alfred leaned back and licked his ice cream thoughtfully. "He used to go out drinking a lot, but that got boring. He goes to one party a weekend and has at least one video game marathon a week. He spends most of his time trying to think up ideas for screenplays, but has only ever half finished one." He gave Arthur a lopsided grin. "He's also a hopeless romantic."

Arthur smirked. "I see."

"And what about the beauty with the green eyes, standing so pensively on his bridge?"

Arthur snorted, though he couldn't help but be a little flattered. "Please. When I'm not working, I'm writing."

"Dreaming doesn't make up your living?"

"Of course it doesn't."

Alfred looked sad. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I just wondered–"

"Yes, if you get to be a screenwriter you won't need to write in your free time, and then you'll be better than me. I get it."

Alfred finished off the last of his ice cream in dismal silence. Arthur took his time, but eventually he was done to the last of it. He licked the crumbs of the cone delicately from his fingers. He shivered slightly. Alfred stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. He looked at Arthur in surprise. "Are you cold?"

"Yes."

Alfred shrugged off his jacket and handed it over. "Here."

"Don't be silly," Arthur said, but Alfred didn't take the jacket back. After a moment, Arthur took it. It fit easily over his own coat. It was still warm from Alfred's body heat.

Alfred gestured at the road. "Shall we?"

Arthur nodded shortly. They walked side by side down the narrow street. There was little to see but houses and the occasional shop. Hardly anyone else was outside. Alfred stuffed his hands in his pockets against the chill. He was only wearing a t-shirt under his jacket, which seemed silly almost beyond Arthur's comprehension. Somehow, they ended up walking close enough together that their arms brushed. They walked up one street and then down the next, and they were back at the bridge. Alfred stopped at the foot of it and looked at Arthur.

"Well?" Arthur said impatiently after a moment. "Is that it, then? The date?"

Alfred shrugged. He hadn't smiled once since they had left the ice cream shop. "You didn't seem like you were enjoying it."

Arthur scowled. For some reason, that made him irritated. "Aren't you going to kiss me, then?"

Alfred looked surprised. "Am I?"

"What was the point of this, then?"

"Alright then." Alfred took his hand and pulled him onto the bridge.

"Where are you doing?"

Alfred stopped at the top of the bridge and took Arthur's other hand. He pulled Arthur even with him and looked at him. "Trying to be romantic." He leaned over and kissed Arthur lightly on the lips. Arthur was barely aware it had started before it was over. Alfred held Arthur's hands a moment longer than necessary and looked into his eyes. Arthur looked back, his surprise apparent on his face. Alfred released his hands and the moment was gone.

Arthur looked away. "I suppose you'll be wanting this back." He shrugged off Alfred's jacket and handed it back to him.

Alfred took it and put it on. His eyes lingered. "I wasn't lying about being interested."

Arthur blinked, and before he knew it, Alfred was halfway off the bridge. There was a subtle difference between 'being interested' and 'finding someone interesting,' he knew. It sounded as if Alfred had meant it.

Even so, he honestly believed he'd never see Alfred again.