[Mi Ying] "See you at dinner."

What can I do for you? Arthur Kirkland asked Alfred in the middle of the counter, "The cake is ready."

The sound by the swimming pool stopped for a few seconds, and Alfred turned to look at him. "No, I can handle the rest."

"Cinnamon powder is in the cupboard on the left."

"I saw it."

"What would you like to drink? Coffee? Tea? "

"Don't worry."

"That ..."

"Ah. Is this just a dinner, or do you just want to stand there and watch the whole thing? "

Arthur Kirkland was choked by his answer for a moment. The Englishman had some puzzled and embarrassed expressions on his face: "No, I didn't. Actually, I still think ... we should at least order a takeaway, right around here. It's almost seven o'clock now, are you sure ... "

"All right, then," Alfred interrupted me with his head down and turned on the tap to wash the palm roots. "When did you come back?"

"Arthur touched his cheek ... 6: 15."

"Then why don't you go upstairs and change?" Alfred shook his head and said to him, "You don't look like you just went home, but you look like you're going out soon."

Arthur Kirkland looked down at his coat. Alfred was right. He really spent too much time standing here motionless. Arthur sighed secretly and unbuttoned the first button on his shirt collar.

When he went upstairs along the revolving wooden stairs, he still looked back at Alfred, who was humming between the refrigerator and the counter downstairs. Arthur stopped again before the American figure completely disappeared from sight. He held the wooden handrail in both hands, then leaned out slightly, stopping the blond man again.

"... is everything all right, Alfred? "Arthur asked hesitantly.

Alfred cocked his head and waved his fork in his direction. "Do you want baked potato or mashed potato salad?"

"……"

Something's wrong. Arthur Kirkland thinks. This is not how things should develop. Some contradictory feelings made it difficult for him to accept that Alfred came to his house early and prepared dinner for him in a short time. Generally speaking, Alfred's cooking is ok, although ordinary heating food in the insulation layer of refrigerator does not require much technical content. But Arthur clearly remembers the timetable for communicating with Alfred in his email three days ago. He thought Alfred would prefer to spend a short time in the big bed in the master bedroom tonight in their tight plan.

The man with green eyes sat by the bed, flipping through the calendar in the mobile phone software like a husband who was afraid of forgetting to buy an anniversary gift for his partner, to make sure that he didn't miss or forget any festivals or anniversaries that might be the reason for dinner. Arthur began to think that there must be someone between him and Alfred who has been exhausted by hard work, otherwise he wouldn't have to be as nervous as a fool to reason about Alfred's subtle attitude on the second floor of his house ... the British version of Raymond Chandler.

Maybe this is just a test, Arthur thought. Just like Alfred used to pull him to shoot various video channel materials, those harmless jokes and pranks, even if Arthur never agreed to appear, Alfred insisted that it was meaningful to shoot and record a part of his life. In rare cases, Arthur can feel some interesting qualities from it, but most of the time he feels that the other person is just playing tricks on himself.

But he didn't see any camera equipment in the living room, and Alfred was too quiet today. The attitude of the Americans almost convinced Arthur that he came all the way across the ocean to have dinner with him, and it was not the kind of candlelight arranged on the top floor of the hotel in advance-because Alfred rejected his proposal from the beginning.

"Are there any cold meals in your refrigerator?" Alfred asked on the phone.

The Englishman obviously didn't understand why he was interested in the answer to this question, but he answered honestly: "There is a stew and … the rest."

"Well," Alfred's tone relaxed, "just heat it up. I will arrive in the evening. "

"But some are ... er ... failures." Arthur quickly persuaded, "Are you sure?"

However, Alfred's answer is still very positive: "For you, this is nothing new. Right? "

Although at the end of the call, at Arthur's insistence, Alfred agreed to let him bake a fresh lemon cake for dinner. Maybe Alfred just doesn't want to date outdoors. But why? Arthur asked silently about the Robin ornaments on the counter in the bedroom. Of course, silent toys can't answer such complicated emotional topics, but Alfred's urging has already reached Arthur's ears first: "Arthur? Are you asleep? "

"No," the man with blond hair quickly stood up, picked up his brown knitted coat and put it on, and walked out the door while responding. "I'm going downstairs."

He put on his slippers and went back to the open kitchen. Alfred is standing in front of the fire playing with his mobile phone to kill time. There is a pot of stew in front of him. Arthur couldn't see what it was. Maybe seafood risotto or something. Alfred seems to be making a second creative process on the food he left over yesterday.

The Englishman continued to hesitate for a while, then made up his mind and called out his name: "Alfred."

The blond American turned around as told.

Arthur's left hand beside him slowly rubbed his bent knuckles and said quickly, "I'm sorry I'm late."

Alfred looked at him for a moment, then looked up at the wall clock on the wall. "Isn't this normal driving?" Today is a working day, and I have a spare key to your house, and it's not cold outside. "He smiled in surprise." What are you thinking, Arthur? "

Arthur opened his mouth in vain. He carefully observed Alfred's expression and was surprised to find that there was no sign of blame. However, not coming home early to see Alfred was the only reason Arthur thought that tonight might provoke Alfred to do something unusual. The British began to feel very surprised and confused, and once again realized that they had lost control of the situation before them.

"Aren't you angry? I thought ... "Arthur asked in a low voice.

Alfred was busy rolling up the cuff that slipped down his arm again. "What did you say?" He didn't seem to hear clearly. The noise of the gas stove affected him.

This unfinished sentence lingered on the tip of the British tongue several times, and was finally swallowed back by him. Arthur put his hand on the lower part of his face and pretended to turn away naturally. At the same time, he absurdly remembered that his colleagues in Downing Street mentioned that he received a birthday card drawn by his three-year-old son when chatting in the teahouse a few days ago, and it turned out that it was just a manual class assignment assigned by the school. Of course, it is obviously inappropriate to compare Alfred with it. Arthur Kirkland tried to convince himself that maybe he could see the bright side of things-he should actively accept Alfred's reasonable growth. Since time can make the naughty boy who had to run around the house three times after feeding a mouthful of pumpkin puree become a challenger who dares to point a pike at his former caregiver, it can naturally make his teenage boyfriend who has always loved fast food become a good man who offered to consume leftovers at home.

A qualified partner should have the basic qualities of respecting and cooperating with each other's efforts. At this time, the British can only silently turn the floor lamp at the dining table into a relatively romantic light to save their humble dinner, and then take out two sets of clean tableware from the cupboard and set the plate. Even if Alfred is really just on a whim, Arthur hopes that at least he won't be the culprit in ruining the party night.

A few minutes later, Alfred began to put the fruits of his labor on the table. Arthur sat in his position, watching him walk back and forth, and his eyes became more and more complicated.

When the blue-eyed American finally sat down opposite Arthur, the Englishman paused for a few seconds and then asked anxiously, "Alfred … what happened that I didn't know?" ? Or did I miss something? "

Alfred stopped picking up the knife.

"What do you mean?" He asked Arthur doubtfully.

Now, the British are really embarrassed. He seems to be deeply offended.

"I don't know ... but your request looks so abnormal. You can talk to me, whatever. No matter what happens, or what problems we have, "he said incoherently," just don't miss the hint. "

"……"

Alfred's expression changed greatly in ten seconds. It took him a little time to digest the information implied in Arthur's expression, and then he immediately found that there was a very serious misunderstanding between them.

"But that's why I'm here." Alfred said, "Just eating, simple."

"impossible." Arthur lowered his head and ate the stew in the bowl. "Come on, is it a new prank game?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Is it too late to ask? You are already enjoying it. "

Arthur continued to stare at him suspiciously, adding sauce to his plate. "But it doesn't make sense."

"You're strange, Arthur," Alfred said with his arms around his chest, and the ending was ambiguous. "Why do I feel that you seem to expect me to be angry with you for something? How come? Do you want me to spank you in bed? "

Arthur choked up, and the food that he couldn't swallow for the time being propped up his obviously red cheeks.

"Alfred's eyes changed immediately ... you're not really imagining this, are you? "

"Shut up." Arthur retorted in despair, "No."

The blonde American was silent for a moment, then reached out and put the phone upside down on the desktop: "Last week, you sent me that photo, didn't you?"

Arthur thought for a moment in confusion. "What photo?" He asked.

Alfred brought up the chat interface between him and Arthur Kirkland and opened one of the photos for Arthur to see.

The Englishman with green eyes looked at it for a while before he understood what Alfred meant.

They don't talk very often. Usually due to the time difference, they don't really ask the other party to reply immediately, which is too immature.

On a quiet rest day, Arthur received a chat message from Alfred while having afternoon tea. The British speculated that Alfred had just arrived in the White House office and sent this message while waiting for the coffee machine to run, so he was bored that he cared about what he was doing.

Arthur didn't think much. It's rare that he didn't reply directly by text message. Instead, I raised my mobile phone and turned on the camera to take a single disc with lemon cake in front of me. The background happens to be the table they are using.

At this time, Arthur looked at the photos and messages he sent neatly arranged in the mobile phone box Alfred gave him. In the chat record, Arthur Kirkland's reply to Alfred was very concise: "Clean up the cake left over from yesterday. Too much has been done. "

The British people are moving forward. He swallowed slowly, only to feel that the air around him suddenly began to become slow and sticky.

"If you do it yourself, it is always the hardest to control a person's weight, whether it is pizza or cake." Alfred took back his cell phone and winked at him. "I know. But if two people eat together, it's just right, isn't it? "

Arthur looked at him with his lips open, but he couldn't speak. The aftertaste of that lemon cake seems to spread on the taste buds on the tip of the tongue again. In my memory, it is sweet and fresh.

"Is that all?" Arthur said.

Alfred shook his head, tore off the burnt edge of the bread and stuffed it into his mouth. "Well, that's all."

Their long-lost dinner lasted for a long time until the dishes left on the table were slowly consumed, leaving only the last few cakes. Arthur stood up and made each of them a cup of tea. Empty plates were temporarily placed on the table, so there was no hurry to clean them up. Alfred moved a little and sat down beside him. They sat next to each other and talked until midnight. Topics range from the daily work of the conscious mind without avoiding suspicion to a new sports car that Alfred took a fancy to on the website.

The starry sky in the city at night is not obvious, and everything is far less warm and warm than the light from the floor lamp in front of the window.

Early the next morning, Alfred's mobile phone's lock screen popup window kept flashing the flight reminder message that took off today. The American turned it off and followed Arthur out of the door outside the foyer lawn.

Arthur intended to drive him to the airport, but Alfred refused. Before he left, the Englishman kissed him on the lips. Alfred loosened his waist, smiled and stepped back, then raised his hand and waved the specially packaged cake box.

"I did you a big favor," Alfred looked at him. "I didn't?"

Arthur couldn't help laughing behind him and then stopped at once. "Maybe." He was embarrassed on purpose. "But I won't say thank you to people who come uninvited."

"Isn't that photo an invitation?" Alfred pursed his lips.

The Englishman reached out and hit him on the arm: "Don't do this."

"See you at the next dinner, then."

"Ok, see you at dinner."

end