• This is about America and England. It's about America coming to work for England who has somehow become a chef. Slowly, they start to care for each other and eventually 'stuff' happens. Please critique and enjoy!

    -

    "C'mere you!"

    Alfred turned around wiping the sweat off of his forehead. He looked to where he had been called from. A blonde man shorter than himself was searing some salmon in a pan. He had a very severe expression. "Uh, one sec," Alfred called as he tried to set down some of the dirty dishes he was carrying.

    "Blast it- Hurry your slow a** up!" The man yelled furiously, his large eyebrows creased in an expression of fury and stress.

    Alfred scowled and dropped the dishes sloppily in a large sink. They splashed water on the floor but no one seemed to notice. He looked around feeling paranoid and not wanting to be yelled at. Again. I'm going as fast as I can damn it... He rushed his way past the many counters of the large kitchen. Tonight was the busiest night of the week; Saturday. All the cooks were in their checkered pants, moving around so fast it seemed hard to believe they actually knew what they were doing. Everything was stainless steel and expensive.

    The white floor had stains from use and the lights were very bright. There was steam here, and smoke there. It was a great kitchen, perfect for the gourmet food that was prepared here. Other than the sound of clinking, stirring, cutting, sizzling, and metal against metal, it was quiet. Everyone worked efficiently and knew what they were doing. Except Alfred.

    "I'm here Arthur," Alfred flashed a smile.

    Arthur turned to him with a look of contempt and sighed. "If you don't call me 'chef' in my own kitchen, you are to be fired immediately." He gave Alfred a disgusted look and grabbed a bottle of red wine thrusting it at him. "Sauté that quail in this NOW." He pointed to the slices of quail sitting alone in a pan. "This order was placed ten minutes ago! You said you wanted to help so be helpful instead of looking around like an idiot!" He could be a very threatening man, especially in his own kitchen.

    "Oki-doki!" Alfred grabbed the wine quickly and nearly tripped as he rushed to the quail meat.

    "When it's finished, stir those tomatoes!" Arthur yelled once again. Only this time, Alfred didn't respond, he was laughing too hard.

    "You are so- Oh my god!" He slapped his knee and had tears forming in the corners of his eyes he was laughing so hard.

    "What?" Arthur seemed offended and the line cooks were staring.

    "DUDE do you even know how you just said tomato?! PFFtt!" He was nearly crying as he poured the wine over the quail.

    "You're the one that says it oddly, not me." With Arthur being British, Alfred thinks he says a lot of things funny. The whole kitchen had gotten used to it. Except Alfred. Even though Arthur looked annoyed as he plated the salmon, he was hiding a smile.

    "Oh man...your gonna kill me..." He lifted his glasses up to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand.

    "I will if you burn that quail."

    "Right." He had nearly burned it but he wasn't going to tell Arthur that. The very angry man he worked for was called Arthur Kirkland. He is the only British chef in this part of Seattle. His mental health is arguable some might say, but there is no doubt his food is spectacular. The restaurant was founded by him a few years back. It is called 'Framed Delice.' Alfred is not a cook. Nor did he think he ever would be.

    After a while orders started to slow down and some of the line cooks were on break. Even the sous-chef was on break. Arthur was sitting and having a cup of tea as Alfred plopped next to him on the bench. This bench was located in the back of the kitchen for the workers.

    Arthur looked at him and scoffed. "How did you manage to get water all over yourself?"

    "I dunno." He shrugged not bringing up the mess he would have to clean later. He was what in the culinary career is known as a commis. He did simple things like chopping vegetables and washing lettuce. Most of the time they forced him to be a dish boy even though they already had two.

    "You're impossible." Arthur sipped his tea not looking at him.

    Usually, Alfred wouldn't act like this. Usually he's in people's faces and is downright obnoxious. But the man in front of him was his boss, and even he knew if you want money you have to behave. His blue eyes flashed tiredly down to his dirty jacket and apron. Then, to Arthur's spotless ones. He had been working here for nearly a month and he was still clueless. He let out a long breath and muttered "Maybe I should quit, this whole job is a pain in the a**. I could easily work at McDonald's." He was joking of course, this place paid triple what McDonald's did.

    Arthur gave him a look and then his eyes were focused on his tea. "I'd rather you didn't."

    "Hm? Why? You couldn't go on without me?"

    "Don't be silly. It's just that I..." Was he blushing?

    "You what?" Alfred questioned. He was now very intrigued. Couldn't he tell that he wasn't serious about quitting? He's never serious.

    "I hate you when you're around. But, I sort of miss you when you're gone..." Arthur said softly. He was staring into his tea and tapping his foot.

    Alfred didn't know why but he felt his cheeks warm. "Haha! That's exactly what my brother Matt says!" he added feeling awkward. He laughed nervously as the expeditor Toris ran up to Arthur. He was a short man with chin length brown hair. He was very polite but, also very shy. He wanted to get a job here to work on his people skills. (An expeditor greets guests and brings in orders from the dining room.)

    "Chef, a group of actors from the nearby theater came in. They all ordered the same thing. Please call everyone off break." He pointed to all the little yellow pieces of paper hanging above a counter.

    Arthur snapped out of whatever mood he was in and stood up. "Delightful. What did they order?" he muttered as he marched over to the papers. "Ah...Mushroom and chive tartlets...Well, get out there we can't have you standing in here all day." he made a shooing motion with his hand at Toris.

    "Ah, yes chef!" He ran out of the kitchen quickly.

    "Dude, you are so full of yourself," Alfred mumbled as he came up behind his boss.

    Arthur turned around to glared at him. "Go outside and get the cooks or so help
    me..."
    "Oki-doki," He called as he ran towards the break room.

    "I told you to call me chef damn it!" Arthur yelled, his green eyes full of annoyance. He watched Alfred go and smiled tiredly to himself. Arthur would never say it to Alfred's face, but he has actually had a small crush on him.

    It all started when he found a very wet and sad man sitting at a table un-reserved.

    - A Month Before -

    The blonde blue-eyed man named Alfred sighed as he threw his black waiter's apron in the trash. It was nine o'clock at night and he was standing in an alley outside of a Burger King. The one in which he was just fired from. He brushed his hair out of his face and started home, about half way there his phone beeped. As he pulled it out of his pocket there was a thunder clap. He felt the first drop of rain on his nose, and then it started to poor. He rushed underneath a closed coffee shop's awning and eagerly read the text message from his current lover at the time. Just to find out he had been broken up with via text message.

    He faced the coffee shop door and could do nothing but frown. He sniffed and fought very hard not to cry. What am I going to do? He knew he was attractive, and one of those people you like even though you don't want to, but that didn't mean it made him feel any better. He put his head against the door and sighed sniffing loudly. There was no telling how long he stayed in that position. When he finally lifted his head away from the door and started off in the direction opposite home, it decided to rain harder.

    "Great," he mumbled walking past shops and buildings. Mostly everything was closed except for a lit restaurant up ahead. He wiped water off of his glasses and squinted to read 'Framed Delice.' He scoffed muttering something about stupid names and marched up to it. Usually when people get off work from a fast food place they don't feel like eating, he happens to be the opposite. The building was tall and had big glass doors. There were all sorts of colors of flowers lining the walk way, and there were quite a few cars in its parking lot. The doors had a golden colored frame, and golden colored knobs shaped like ivy leaves. He opened the door walking inside. The carpet was a nice maroon color and there was a sign that stated "Wait to be seated. Reservations only." The walls were cream colored with cherry wood boarders.

    "Pft, reservation my a**." He marched inside and looked around boredly. There were circular tables with white cloths, elegant candles and flowers placed in the middle. It was very busy. Everyone in here was dressed formally and seemed exceptionally good looking. There were waiters rushing around with food, golden colored candelabras and chandeliers, and beautiful artwork on the walls. He was unimpressed as he walked over to an empty table and plopped down. Why aren't there any ******** crackers? He thought bitterly as he looked at the fancy setup on the table. The carpet in here was a dark magenta with little gold flecks here and there. He was seated in a table in the back and was tempted to start eating a flower as a man with chin length brown hair rushed up to him.
    "Sir, do you have a reservation? I don't recall seating you." He had his hands behind his back and looked aloof but pleasant.

    "I didn't make any damn reservation. I'm hungry though." He slapped money on the table. He felt like spending it all. Why not spend it all on food?

    The man looked at Alfred as if not knowing what to do and nodded. "Um, well sir you really do need a reservation to eat here." He was trying very hard to be polite and not offend the angered and soaked man in front of him.

    "I'm not making a damn reservation. Just give me something off the menu." He glared at the waiter/expeditor boredly.

    "O-one moment sir." he muttered his voice shaking. He turned and went somewhere. Alfred grinned thinking he was getting security.

    Instead he came back with a blonde man at his side. He had green eyes and the biggest eyebrows Alfred had ever seen. He was in a toque and a full on chef outfit. He was a little shorter than himself. As he walked to his table, some guests were staring and smiling saying things like "Oh! It's him!" or "Wow do you see chef Kirkland?"

    "Get the hell out of my restaurant git. Toris claims you have no reservation." The man glared at him. He was British.

    "Dude, are you the chef?" Alfred didn't get up.

    "I am chef Arthur Kirkland and this is my restaurant. If you don't leave, I will throw you out of here myself." He was glaring. Why is he so familiar? Alfred thought staring dumbly at the British man in front of him.

    "I thought British people couldn't cook." Alfred said.

    Toris's eyes widened and he looked quickly at Arthur. The chef leaned over the table and grabbed Alfred's shirt glaring at him directly in the eye.

    "I've spent half my life making that statement a lie. I've studied in France, Greece, Japan and China. Do NOT bloody insult me," he was nearly growling. This must be a tender subject to him. Sweet. Why not fight with a chef? He added it to his mental bucket list.

    "Well, if you're so great then bring me something to eat." He shoved the money at Arthur grinning. There is no way he can resist proving a point.

    Arthur leaned back, letting go of his shirt and stood up straight. He looked down at him crossing his arms and abruptly left going towards the kitchen. Toris was looking around making nervous noises and decided to go help someone. Alfred spent this time thinking about why Arthur seemed familiar.

    "Take it wanker," is what he heard ten minutes later.

    "Huh?" Alfred snapped his head up, he was deep in thought. Chef Kirkland was thrusting a plate at him and he had a deep scowl and a glare that could probably curdle dairy. "Oh, what is it?"

    "It's a pan seared delice of salmon set in a bed of chive mash. It's my restaurant's signature dish." He didn't hide the venom in his words.

    "Oh, that sounds gross." He grabbed the plate and took a bite anyway.

    Arthur just stared at him with his arms crossed, a sneer on his face.

    Alfred's eyes widened slightly and he took another bite. Arthur grinned and left not even waiting for a comment/remark.

    It was good, the best salmon he'd ever eaten. Of course, he wasn't going to tell the chef that.

    He probably sat there for over an hour staring at his empty plate (he finished it in seconds) and thinking about things. Toris and Arthur didn't bother him, and he didn't have to give up his seat. It was nearly 11:30 at night before anyone spoke to him again.
    "Sir, it's closing time." Toris said gently. Alfred looked up at the man; he had a slight accent he hadn't noticed before.

    "You're not from here are you?"

    "No sir, I'm not. My home is in Lithuania."

    "Gasundheit." Alfred grinned.

    "E-excuse me sir?"

    "Bloody hell, would you just get out of here already?" Chef was walking hastily towards them. No one else was in the restaurant now, except the workers who were cleaning up.

    "I guess." Even though he had been told to get out, Alfred didn't want to leave and go home. Where he would be alone. No one would be there to make him dinner or love him tonight. Maybe his expression was more sorrowful than he thought because Toris handed him a handkerchief from his pocket.

    "What the hell is this for?" he looked at it. Toris was quiet and the British man was just staring at him as if deciding what should be done about this situation.

    "Are you homeless?" Arthur questioned in a soft tone. He didn't sound angry anymore.

    "Hell no! I'm not homeless. I'm just not having a good day."

    Arthur looked at Toris then they both stared at Alfred.

    "Toris, you are dismissed. You haven't the need to deal with this beggar anymore." He gestured to the damp American. Toris nodded and walked out of the restaurant doors. Arthur left but came back with two bottles and sat across from Alfred.

    The silence was awkward until Arthur said,"We all have those." He opened his beer and drank heavily from it. He gestured for Alfred to take the other bottle. He did. His money was still sitting there.

    "I got dumped. And fired." He didn't know what made him say it, but he did. He opened his beer and chugged it, hoping to get buzzed quickly. "And...I was hungry."

    Arthur shook his head. "I would indeed classify that as a bad day." He took another drink.

    "And-and why don't you have any crackers?"

    "Beg your pardon?"

    "Restaurants usually have appetizers and s**t, but you have flowers." He was starting to feel the buzz so he drank more.

    "Oh, our appetizers are things like savory dill scones with smoked salmon and creamed horseradish, or tiny filo baskets with creamy chicken tikka, or crispy-"

    "Dude, like what are you saying to me?" Alfred had finished his beer and was staring at the man in front of him more dumbly than usual.

    "Well, I'm saying...we need more beer." He got up and came back with a whole pack of them. They sat there for over an hour drinking and talking.

    "So...what the hell is a carpadio anyway?" Alfred slurred, his arm holding a bottle in a drunken swagger.

    "You mean a carpaccio? God I don't know..." Arthur stared at the flowers on the table.

    "I dunno either. What the hell kind of name is Arthur anyway?"

    "It's not as bullocks as Alfred."

    "I don't want go home to my fish...It's so like...lonely. I bet they're dead. I haven't fed them in a couple of days I think. What do you think?" Alfred slurred boredly, seeming to have trouble focusing on the man in front of him.

    "I think that's lovely. What are their names?"

    "Well...I don't know what the hell gender they are..." He paused to take a big drink. "But one of them is Sunny and the other is Cher."

    "How beautiful." Arthur smiled stupidly and drank more.

    "What were we talking about?"

    "I...don't know. I don't care! Have you ever been taught to cook by a Frenchman?"

    "No, not ...no...Like..."

    "My teacher was horrible, I don't even..."

    "We should just go."

    "Go where?"

    "Away."

    "I'm...yeah." Arthur's eyes started to droop and he fell asleep right there. Soon Alfred followed.

    -

    Arthur opened his eyes and blinked. He had a giant headache and he had drool all over his chin. He looked around and scratched his head. They were in his restaurant. He looked at his watch, it was one o'clock. The restaurant doesn't open until seven, so he sighed in relief. Then, he gasped as he saw a person slumped over in a chair opposite him. He recognized this as the beggar from last night. "What the hell!"

    Alfred whipped his head up and stared at Arthur with pursed lips trying to think. "Oh...hey man."

    "Piss off!" Arthur yelled jumping out of his chair. He was getting ready to yell something else when he remembered about their short pre-drunk conversation and the drinking that followed.

    "Mmhm." Alfred slowly got up and wobbled as he tried to make his way around a table near the door. "Incredible obstacle..." he muttered.

    "Wait!" Arthur was rubbing his head because sudden movement had made him dizzy.

    "Hmm?" The American slowly turned around. His mouth dropped open and he gasped, pointing at the chef. "I know you! I know you! I thought you looked familiar!"

    "What?" he looked confused.

    "You were that guy that came and helped out my mom a lot when I was little weren't you? Like...a guy nanny."

    "What?!" He thought hard and then he gasped. "You're Alfred Jones? I had never imagined I would see you again. And I wasn't a nanny. I was a paid assistant. I was in dire need of money to put myself through culinary school."

    "I knew I saw you somewhere." he yelled punching the air. "Yes! Can you imagine what my mom would do if she saw us getting plastered together?"

    "I..." Arthur looked like he was about to say something, but then he started laughing. He was laughing so much that soon they were laughing together.

    "Well..I'm gonna go. Bye, thanks for the beer and stuff." He said after they got done laughing and started to leave.

    "You said you got fired right? How about you come be a dish boy?"

    Alfred froze and turned around slowly to look at Arthur as if in disbelief. "Dude are you serious?! When can I start?!"

    -Present-

    So, after Saturday's dinner rush, it was closing time. Everyone went home and Alfred was heading out the door when he saw Arthur out of the corner of his eye. "You staying late or something?"

    He looked quickly at the American, probably not realizing anyone else was near. "Oh, no I was just- I don't have to explain anything to you!" He marched past Alfred and through the doors.

    "You know I'm never going to call you chef right?" Alfred called as he ran to catch up.

    The British man just turned and stared at him. "I figured." He leaned his head back and sighed. "I wonder how I can put up with you."

    Alfred shrugged and they started walking together. Sometimes they do this to talk about things. This time they were both very quiet. Alfred kept finding that he wanted to look at Arthur. After the next block is usually when they split, because they live in opposite directions.

    They waved by and starting walking their separate ways. Alfred heard a noise and turned. There was a bus coming and he realized he couldn't see Arthur anywhere. When he did see him his eyes widened and he started running. Arthur was crossing the road and had his head phones on listening to music. Look Arthur look! Can't you see the headlights?! Alfred thought frantically as he ran towards the oblivious British man.

    The bus was blowing its horn about five feet away from a now alert Arthur as Alfred jumped and knocked him hard out of the way. The bus passed and Alfred was breathing hard on adrenaline with half his body on Arthur's.

    "Dude you almost died!" Alfred got up and offered his hand. "You okay?"

    Arthur just stared up at him and then his eyes flicked to the bus's fading tail lights.

    "Watch where you're going man, you scared me." Alfred said without thinking. He felt his cheeks warm at Arthur's face. He had a very vulnerable expression. Alfred began to feel an extreme amount of relief. He really would have been devastated if something had happened to Arthur. Feeling awkward he laughed, "Did you see how heroic I was? I was totally bad-a**.!" He moved his hand up and down insisting that Arthur should take it. Arthur did take it and was pulled up.

    "...Thanks." Was all he said.

    "You don't need to go to the doctor or something do you?" The American didn't know what else to say.

    "No. I'll survive." Thanks to you. Those last unspoken words were hanging in the air.

    "Do you want me to walk you home?" Alfred thought for sure he would reject him.
    "Okay."

    "Really?"

    "Just do it. I think when you knocked me over I twisted my ankle a little or something." He said looking down at his leg. So, they walked together in silence, it was true that Arthur was limping slightly.

    After a while Alfred asked, "So, what was it like?"

    "What was what like?"

    "Almost dying."

    "You can't just ask someone that!"

    "Well I just did."

    They were at Arthur's doorstep and Alfred was looking at him expectantly.

    "Like a deer in the headlights I suppose." He said softly and took out his keys.

    "Oh. You don't need me to help you get up or down stairs, or make you something to eat do you?" Why was he being so attentive?

    "No. Goodbye and thanks."

    "Oh, no problem." Alfred nodded and shook himself slightly as he had the weirdest urge to touch him on the cheek. They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment before Arthur opened his door and walked in. Alfred couldn't help but notice the whole way there that Arthur's cheeks were red, they were red even as he closed the door leaving him alone. He sighed missing him already for some reason and headed home.

    -

    "Hello, Mister Jones." Toris greeted as he walked through the door.

    "Sup man?"

    "I'm fine sir. How might you be?" He inquired.

    "Great! Best. Night's. Sleep. Ever!" He gave Toris a double thumb up and ran into the kitchen. Actually he'd had the worst night's sleep ever, but he was excited because he knew he would see Arthur again today. He never felt this happy to see someone. This fact bothered him but he tried not to think about it.

    Before the restaurant opens it's his job to help tidy up a little and prep some things. While he was washing a pot, Toris came up beside him. He seemed nervous.

    "That's excellent, but sir I wasn't done talking with you."

    "Oh, talk away then, bro." He rinsed the pot.

    "A food critic is coming today. His name is Roderich Edelstein. He's from Austria. And, Chef Kirkland has been anticipating his critique for a week now. I just wanted to say, please don't do anything that might upset Chef please. This is kind of a big deal." He tilted his head a little and looked at him in an almost pleading way.

    "Oh...Sure, whatever." Why didn't Arthur tell me about the critic?

    "Thank you sir!" He smiled and straightened his tie. "Nice talking with you." He left seeming happy.

    "That was weird..." Alfred stared after him. I wonder how you make that salmon thing... Alfred thought as he stared at the fish fridge. He looked around and grinned.

    -

    "Toris, is the kitchen clean and prepped?" Arthur walked in proudly. He had put a wrapping on his ankle and attempted to walk like royalty and not limp. He was doing a pretty good job.

    "Oh, yes chef. Well, it should be, the commis claimed it done." He fiddled with his hands.

    "Good, good." As he walked into the kitchen he made a face mumbling, "Do I smell salmon?"

    The sight that greeted him was Alfred putting salmon on a plate.

    "What in the name of the Queen are you doing in my kitchen? You're not a cook! You should never cook unless I order you to! Do you understand?!" Arthur yelled walking hastily up to him and slapping his back. "Are you listening git?!"

    "Dude calm down I'm just practicing!" He moved away from the slapping British man and took his salmon with him. "I just thought I would try to make some of your salmon...You have a whole fridge full of it. And it looked really easy when you made it. I made it my own way! Wanna taste it?" he thrust his plate at Arthur and smiled.

    "Well- What did you do to it?" He looked down at the salmon. It didn't look too bad, and it didn't seem raw.

    "My brother made me salmon one time. He cooked it with lemon and pepper. Then, he put dill on it. It was really good! So I made some!" He wouldn't admit it but being around professional cooks all day was kind of depressing. He used to feel proud he could barbeque without burning it and make boxed macaroni.

    "Hm. Fine give me a fork." After he was handed the fork, he cut it down the middle and looked at it. Arthur's hands were in front of him and he was grinning in anticipation. "It's over done..."

    "Aw..." Alfred whined. Arthur took a bite and pursed his lips after he got done chewing.

    "Well, it's not bad. I'll give you that. But, you used too much lemon. It was a little dry, don't cook it so long, and what-"

    "Okay okay! God, was it good at all?!" He got close to him and pointed furiously at the cut up salmon. He felt a little sheepish and hated it that only Arthur's approval would make him feel better.

    "Well, it's not bad for someone who lives alone and doesn't cook much I suppose." He patted Alfred's shoulder and smiled. "Did you make this especially for me?"

    "No!" he rushed away to scrub a pot. Anyone could tell from his expression that he was lying.

    "Oh, you did didn't you?" Arthur teased. In his mind though, he was very happy. He looked at Alfred who was furiously scrubbing and smiled to himself. Is it possible that he might like me too?

    Alfred was quiet and started working on other things. Arthur was in a superb mood the whole afternoon and first part of the evening, Arthur wasn't frightened when Toris came in with the food critic's order.

    "Chef! Chef! He said he wants the stuffed quail! And he ordered an appetizer! He wants the mint cous cous!" He was waving the small yellow ticket around like it was a winning lotto card.

    "Very well, I shall prepare it myself." Arthur went quickly to work. Alfred walked to the doors of the kitchen and peeked out of the window wondering if he would know the critic when he saw him. And he did. The man was sitting alone at a table, he had a very serious expression. His hair was a chocolate color and he wore dark purple. He had glasses and a face mole. That has to be the critic...

    In twelve minutes the appetizer was done, and in thirty so was the quail. All the line cooks and even Alfred watched through a crack in the door as Toris served Roderich the quail. He gently cut it up giving it an appraising look as he did so. He took a bite and chewed slowly. He smiled and said something to Toris. Toris nodded quickly and looked like he was about to cry as he rushed towards the kitchen. Everyone moved away from the door and looked expectantly at him. Arthur was sipping tea as he came up.

    "Well Toris?" Arthur questioned.

    "He loves it! He said it's the best quail he's ever had in America! Can you believe it? Oh how wonderful!" He clapped his hands and jumped up and down. Everyone in the kitchen let out a happy sound or a yell of "Yes!!"

    Alfred was chewing on his lip and wondering what the heck was so important about a snobby guy that writes about food.

    "Hey, Arthur. Why is this a good thing?" He said before he could stop himself. Everyone in the kitchen turned and looked at him with a look of disbelief.

    "He's only the harshest critic ever!" One dish boy said.

    "He's critiqued places like 'La Monde,' 'Hell's Kitchen,' 'Fleur Caramel,' and like a whole bunch more! Any restaurant would be happy for a positive critique from him. If he likes your food then you are pretty awesome!" a commis smiled and said quickly.

    "Oh." Alfred nodded as if he knew exactly what the commis was talking about and crossed his arms.

    "So, his review should be out in Tuesday's morning paper." Arthur said with a sly look.

    "That's two days from now! How exciting! Oh this is so great Chef!" Toris smiled and then rushed out to help other customers. So, two days later, Alfred picked up the news paper and read it before work. In a column to the left, the food critic wrote:

    Framed Delice is one of those tiny establishments you would expect to see in a large city. The menu is also something you would expect. But, what I did not expect, was that something as simple as the meal I had to taste so divine. For an appetizer, I had mint cous cous. That was delicious but ordinary. As most cous cous dishes are. However, my entree was quail. Quail stuffed with a variety of herbs, vegetables, and spices. It was brushed with a sauce of red wine and herb. I had thought it would be plain, like other quail I had tasted before in America. It was not. It was tender, juicy, flavorful and the spices all worked excellently together. I am very impressed by this dish. I would request it to anyone who chooses to dine there. Other than the spectacular food, the service was hospitable and quick. The atmosphere of the entire place was relaxing and calm.
    Chef Kirkland's restaurant will be one I will remember. I generously give this wonderful restaurant four out of five stars. If I ever visit Seattle, I may very well eat there again.
    Happy Eating.
    Roderich.

    "Humph." Alfred's eyebrows rose as he read the column. He walked into work and everyone was in a great mood. Arthur had not yet arrived and Toris was so happy he looked as if he didn't know what to do with himself.

    "Sir Jones! Did you see the review?" He asked practically running up to him.

    "Yes, I did."

    "Four stars! Can you believe it? We're great enough to be a four, but not fancy enough for a five! That's a wonderful critique!"

    "Why wouldn't you want five?"

    "Five would make it seem as if we were too good. People would expect too much... We aren't that spectacular. A four means we are the best low budget restaurant in this part of Seattle!" He clapped again and was all smiles.

    "Geez don't die about it."

    "But, it's great! This means more people will want to eat here!"

    "Which means more work for us." Alfred sighed and went into the kitchen. When Arthur arrived everyone congratulated him. He decided to bring all of the workers into the kitchen to have a celebratory glass of wine. After the wine, the dinner rush started. Even though they were busy, everyone was happy and in great moods. More customers than usual asked to give their compliment to the chef. It was an overall great day.

    It was closing time and Alfred and Arthur were again the only ones left in the restaurant.

    "So, everyone's pretty excited about that snob critic guy." Alfred said to Arthur as he opened the door. The British chef walked out and Alfred followed.

    "Yes, it's a pretty big deal." Arthur locked the doors to his restaurant and gave the American a long look. "You really are clueless aren't you?"

    Arthur said nothing and just decided to walk in silence.

    "Should we have a night out?" Alfred decided to break the silence and stopped to look at the big eyebrowed guy in front of him.

    "What do you mean?"

    "We could go out for drinks, or go play pool, gamble, y'know something fun?"

    "Oh...." Alfred couldn't possibly know it, but Arthur hadn't ever played pool. Also, Alfred was the only person he ever did anything with outside of work. He was a pretty lonely man.

    "How does it sound?" He opened his arms and wiggled his eyebrows. It was a very comical look. So much so, that Arthur started laughing. He was angry and harsh in his kitchen, but outside of work he hardly ever seemed angry. It was as if he never took his stress home.

    "How about we go to my house, drink and play poker?" Arthur offered.

    "I didn't know you could even play poker old man! Haha!" Alfred slapped his back and grinned.

    "You can't call yourself a man if you can't play poker."

    So, when they made it to his house, they drank. His house was a small two bedroom. It had wooden floors, clean beige walls, nice expensive furniture and an array of potted plants.

    They didn't get drunk, but a light buzz put them in good spirits. Arthur kept winning at poker and if they were using real money Alfred would owe $124,235. It was very late at night and they were both getting a little sleepy.

    "Dude, can I crash at here? I'm beat," the American groaned plopping himself on the couch.

    "Alright." Arthur had had a bit more to drink than Alfred did and he was having a hard time hanging on to his thoughts. He sighed and sat down next to the man already on the couch.

    The room was dim because Arthur had turned off the main light. So now, the only light in the room was from a small U.K. flag nightlight and a cracked open bathroom door.

    "I can't cook." Was all Alfred said as he turned his head to look at Arthur. Arthur smiled and blinked.

    "Not many people can well." They just looked at each other's faces in the dark for a moment. No one spoke. In the darkness Arthur was hoping that his companion couldn't see the redness that had formed on his cheeks.

    "Hey, Arthur?" The American asked softly.

    "Yes, Alfred?" Arthur replied as he felt his heart beat a little faster.

    "Can I do something?"

    "Of course." Arthur's hands were clenched, and he was starting to feel a fluttering in his stomach. Why was he feeling like this? Alfred didn't have a seductive tone, and he didn't sound flirty. It was like he was asking about the weather.

    Arthur felt a hand touch his cheek and his eyes widened even more. What was happening? He felt more than saw the other man shift his position. He heard his couch make a soft noise as Alfred moved closer to him. He couldn't help but lean his face to the warmth of the other man's hand. His mind was surprisingly blank and he closed his eyes. Could this be a dream? Am I passed out drunk at the table? Were about the only questions he could think clearly.

    He felt a light pressure on his lips and his stomach did a flip-flop. He was being kissed. Kissed by the very man he had a crush on. It was a moment before he moved his lips too. He had never really been kissed before. At least not like this. He had done some things in college he wasn't proud of but that wasn't important.

    Alfred was surprisingly gentle as he kissed Arthur. Arthur opened his mouth forgetting to breathe, and instead of air, Alfred's tongue made its way into his mouth. He nearly yelped at the weird feeling, but instead he breathed through his nose and found that the feeling of someone else's tongue in his mouth wasn't a bad thing. If anything it made this kiss better. He timidly tried messing with the other man's tongue with his own, but he really didn't know what he was doing. His mind was blank and for some reason he felt wonderful.

    After who knows how long, Alfred broke their kiss apart and was silent. They were both breathing heavy and Arthur really wanted more. He didn't do anything but just tried to catch his breath as he watched the other man, who seemed to be staring at the ceiling.

    "I'm sorry, maybe I should go." Alfred stated as he started to get up, Arthur reached out quickly and pulled him back down by his shirt. "Wha-"

    "Don't leave!" Arthur figured Alfred had mistaken his silence for anger. But, he was more shocked and delighted than he would lead on.

    He could feel Alfred staring at him. Arthur wasn't looking at him though, he was staring at the arm of his couch.

    There was a pause until Arthur asked, "Can I do something too?"

    The American nodded and turned to him. Slowly, Arthur touched Alfred's cheek. He smiled to himself. Alfred's skin wasn't super soft, but it wasn't rough and best of all it was warm. Carefully and a bit frightened, Arthur brought Alfred's face to his own and kissed him shyly. He wasn't used to this at all, but he really enjoyed it the feeling. He wondered and hoped that the man he was kissing had the same wonderful feeling he did.

    This time, Alfred reached a hand onto Arthur's head and messed with his soft hair. Arthur found he could only concentrate on one thing a time. His eyes popped open in shock and surprise as he broke their kiss as he realized a certain somewhere was feeling very...awake. Of course he'd felt this before, but he didn't want to feel it now. He looked up. Alfred was grinning and kissed his forehead.

    "You haven't done much kissing in your life have you?" The American asked simply.

    "C-can't say I have." He was surprised to find his voice as he crossed his legs and leaned back. He was trying very hard to ignore his "feeling."

    "I...hope I didn't offend you."

    "Offend me? Heaven's no." They were having a normal conversation as if they didn't just make out on the couch.

    "Well, I'm just gonna say it. I realize now that I like you. I may regret this in the morning but I feel beer has given me a confidence boost." Alfred stated. Arthur didn't even have to look to know he was giving a double thumb up. The question 'You like me too right?' Hung in the air. "You aren't angry?" Alfred was usually cocky but he was being careful about what he said.

    "No...I'm elated."

    -

    The truth was, Alfred was feeling overjoyed. Inside he was having a party, and what he felt most of all was relief. Relief because maybe, he wouldn't have to spend nights alone anymore feeding his (new) fish and eating cold fast food hamburgers. He wasn't drunk enough to blame this whole ordeal on alcohol. He had been hoping Arthur had been drunk enough to say yes to his question. He expected to be punched and thrown out of the place. But this had turned out better than he thought. Who cares if he liked his boss? He had spent the night before unable to sleep. Arthur was on his mind like crazy. He didn't even know why, it's not like Arthur was really good looking, or had a super sexy body. Usually the people Alfred dated were really good looking or had lots of money. It's true Arthur has a lot of money, but he isn't the type of person Alfred could have ever imagined even thinking about liking.

    Yet here he is, sitting close to this British guy and wanting to get even closer. He cleared his throat feeling nervous. "It's getting a little late isn't it? Work is starting early tomorrow...Remember you gave the dish boys-" He didn't get to finish because Arthur kissed him again. Alfred's eyes widened and he made a "Mn!" noise in surprise.

    The kiss was sloppy, quick but meaningful as he grinned in the darkness and watched as Arthur got up and smoothed his hair back. "You are right for once."

    "Of course I'm right. I'm always right." Alfred said as he laid down on his back.

    "Right."

    Arthur had nearly made it out of the room before Alfred questioned, "We're cool right?"

    This stopped Arthur and he turned around. "Only if you're okay with it..." He didn't really know what he meant but he said it anyway.

    Apparently Alfred got exactly what he meant and after a minute called, "Yeah."

    So, that was it. They were undecidedly seeing one another and they were both perfectly happy about it. That night, Alfred went to bed with a grin, and Arthur went to bed with a smile.

    -