((Important Author's Note: I forgot to mention in the first author's note, and there wasn't room for it in the description, but in later chapters there will be mentions of rape and slightly more than mentions of rape, so if you're not comfortable with that, then I suggest you stop here before you get too invested in the story. Sorry about that… On a non-important note, sorry about the extremely convenient plot-convenience in this chapter. I'm not writing a novel here. Just some sappy, smutty, usuk/ukus, fanfiction.))

"Where the hell have you been all this time?!" Matthew shouted as soon as Alfred entered the flat, "I nearly called the cops! And what happened to your arm?!"

"I cut myself on the playground. One of the bolts was sticking out where I fell." Alfred lied quickly. Alfred was used to lying to Matt. Although when it was important, Matthew could usually tell. Luckily, this was not one of those times.

"Here let me look at it."

"Nah, it's cool. It's mostly just torn fabric. I'll stick a Band-Aid on it and it'll be fine."

"Dammit, Alfred, can't you stay out of trouble for one day?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just go eat some pancakes or something, all right. I'm going to bed."

"If you think you're getting out of unpacking, you're sadly mistaken."

"I'll just do it in the morning, Matt," Alfred waved him off, walking into the nearest room, "Is this one mine?"

"That's the bathroom, Alfred."

"Right," Alfred said, going further down the hall to find his own room.

"It's all the way down on the left," Matt shouted, "it's the only one with a window."

"Thanks, Matt, you're the best!"

Getting to sleep for the first time in a new house is never easy, the rain continued on for most of the night, and the sounds of the city were completely foreign to the blond country boy. It also did not help that Alfred had known of his stuff because he had refused to unpack. The white walls of his room were completely barren, lifeless even. And it was frightening.

The one window cast to dim light against the pale walls, creating dark faces with hollowed eyes and grim intentions. There is something frightening about an empty room, there's nowhere to hide in yet, you feel as though you're being watched.

Back in America, Alfred had been known as something of a coward. He was picked on for it, yet everyone knew that if ghosts or zombies or vampires were brought up, Alfred would not be participating in the conversation.

There is just something about creatures that looked human, but weren't, that gave him chills. Not that he would've ever guessed that they were real. No, no one ever assumes that they're real. That is, until you see one face-to-face, and there is absolutely no doubt that what you are seeing is the true face of horror.

In the morning, Alfred had somehow managed to get away from unpacking- yet again- this time by slipping out of the house before Matthew had awoken. Alfred was a morning person. Matthew- while as a child had always been an early riser- had grown accustomed to long nights and late mornings.

Alfred was excited. Not in the "I have exciting plans" way, but more of the "I'm somewhere new, and I'm perfectly content just wandering around aimlessly for a few hours" way.

He didn't really know where he was headed, or which direction he was going, but he got the general feeling that he was headed the way he had come. But then again, knowing Alfred's sense of directions, he could have been halfway to Wales by now…

Finally, when Alfred decided that he was tired enough to rest he decided that he might as well get something to eat. Pulling out his smartphone, he searched for places to eat nearby. There were a few cheap pubs around, but they all had two stars or less. What Alfred was interested in, however, was a little place a few blocks away which had somehow managed to obtain five star reviews.

He walked in the general direction of the place, reading the reviews as he went. It was what Alfred would probably have described as a coffee shop. It served tea, mainly, but also served lunch and bakery goods.

Finally, after several embarrassing wrong turns, Alfred reached the cosy little café. Despite England's peculiar weather, it actually had an outdoor section- albeit with a covering, but still. Alfred checked the sky. Dreary, but not rainy. He'd sit outside.

The waitress giggled at his accent, and recommended some form of pastry when he explained he'd just moved here. She was cute, but not really his type. He sat outside and sipped his tea- complementary of the waitress who'd been very obviously been flirting with him. He wasn't really a tea person, but it wasn't too bad.

The waitress brought out whatever it is Alfred had ended up ordering, and he asked if there was a bathroom somewhere. She politely gestured to the restroom sign back inside. He thanked her and went to do his business.

For some reason now was the time that Alfred's mind wandered back to the previous night, and the mysterious Arthur Kirkland he had met. That was his type. Not that Alfred strictly went for men. All in all, he'd probably actually dated more women than men, but it was really just a guess.

Either way, that blonde was a hottie. Not just because of what he looked like, he just gave off an aura that simply gave Alfred shivers. Of course, so did his last boyfriend, and that didn't lead anywhere in the long run. Nothing ever lead anywhere in the long run for Alfred. Call it bad luck, or call it Alfred having bad taste in men(and women), it's all just a matter of opinion.

Back in the café, Alfred noticed that the small shop had a new patron. Sitting outside two tables away from Alfred's, was none other than Arthur Fucking Kirkland. 'How (plot) convenient…' Alfred thought as he headed back out the door. This time. This time for sure he'd seduce the blond with the crazy brows.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said. The Brit nearly spat out his tea. "Do you come here often?"

"Oh, it's you…"

"Alfred," he finished for him. Alfred noticed that the Brit looked significantly less pale today. Maybe it had just been the lighting that had made him look so deathly pale before.

"Right, Alfred."

"You didn't answer my question, ya know?"

"Question?" Arthur looked slightly concerned. Alfred put his hand down on the table, ridiculously close to Arthur's face.

" 'Do you come here often?' " Alfred asked again, in his best seduction voice.

"Oh. Actually I do. This is my favourite tea shop."

"Really? So you literally come here often… that almost never works- Uh… I mean… uh… Can I sit with you?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes a bit at the blond.

"As long as you only sit."

"So… can I not talk then?" Alfred asked as he sat down.

"As long as you don't pester me too much, I don't really care what you do."

"Uh… what constitutes 'pestering'?"

"Asking ridiculous questions for one."

"Oops," Alfred laughed, "So how'd you find out about this place? Like did a friend recommend it or something?"

"I've been coming here nearly my whole life. My father showed it to me when I was young and I kept coming back even after he passed," Arthur said with practiced ease.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's hardly something to apologise about."

"Were you… were you close with your father?"

"I suppose you could say that. But his passing doesn't bother me if that's what you're getting at. It is the way of life after all."

Alfred shifted uncomfortably, suddenly remembering Arthur snapping the fat man's neck in the alleyway the night before.

"Uh… can I ask you a question?"

"No," Arthur said so plainly that he had to wonder if he was being sarcastic. He didn't say anything more, so maybe he wasn't…

"But what about yesterday?"

"What about it? I saved your life at the cost of someone else's. Either way, someone was going to die. It was only a matter of who."

"But couldn't you have… like not killed him? Like-"

"No. I couldn't have. Someone was going to die. There was no avoiding that fact, Alfred."

Alfred shuddered at his name. He could have died last night. That fact was very true- and very frightening. But that also didn't change the fact that Arthur had killed someone- to save a complete stranger at that. There was something odd about that to say the least.

"I assume you're wondering why I bothered to save you in the first place?" Arthur asked.

"You…. you can't read minds… right?"

"No."

"Okay… Why did you save me then?"

"Rather a low-life thug than a poor American fresh off the boat."

"Plane."

"Whatever."

"But you can't do that! You're playing god! You can't just chose who lives and dies!"

"Keep your voice down, Alfred. And I already told you, someone was going to die either way. Would you have rather I let them slit your throat and take your precious passport? And then who knows what would have become of your corpse."

"N-no… I wouldn't rather that happened…"

"Then problem solved," Arthur said, continuing to sip his tea.

"But aren't you worried you'll get charged with murder? You could go to jail!"

"I'm not concerned with it. If they call me in, I'll explain what happened and things will sort themselves out. Not that I'm worried that will happen. I've seen these things before: the case will go into a special investigation group, and then it will never get solved. Problem sovled."

"But… your finger prints have got to be all over that guy's neck! It won't take them long to find you!"

"Alfred. I'm. Not. Concerned." He took another sip of his tea. "Things will work out."

"I don't know. Maybe it's just a lifetime of bad luck speaking, but I don't think things like that just work out…"

"Well, you have your luck, and I have mine. If you're concerned that you'll get involved, don't be. Even if they figure out you were there, like I said, it'll go into a special cases division, and never see the light of day again."

"Why do you say that it'll go into a special division?"

"Because I know how law works. There's a special division that handles these cases, and they're incompetent. They hardly ever solve cases."

"What division is this? How the hell does crime even work in England?"

"Probably not too differently from America. People commit crimes. People work to solve crimes. People fail to solve crimes. Murderers walk around freely."

"A-are you…?"

Arthur snorted at the question.

"That's not an answer," Alfred said nervously.

"Would you call the police on me if I said 'yes'?"

"I'm not sure I'd believe you…" Alfred said, shocked.

"Then don't," Arthur said, standing up- having finished his tea. "It's none of your concern if I'm a liar."

"A-and… are you a liar?"

"No," he smirked as he walked back into the café and then back out the door again and headed off.

There were two things that Alfred was certain of. One: he was very, very confused. And two: he'd quite possibly just fallen in love with a murderer.