Chapter Text
When Alfred’s advisor had pulled him aside to tell him, ‘Hey, we have a really great study abroad program if you’re interested.’ the alpha had perked up as though Indiana Jones himself—no relation, unfortunately—had asked him out on expedition through deep jungles and arid deserts.
Abroad.
A genuine adventure if there ever was one.
And then his mom had said: ‘Oh sweetie that’s great! Let’s see if your brother wants to go to...’
God fucking damn it.
Now, he had nothing against Matthew; his brother was a great guy. But he was an omega and Alfred was an alpha and they were as different as day and night no matter how similar they looked. And then Matthew got excited about the prospect of going away for a term, so how could he say no? They already attended the same university so they could easily both go into the same program. And their mom had gushed on and on about how it was such a great opportunity and they’d have so much fun…
He felt like he was six again, being let off at his first day of kindergarten with his brother clinging to the back of his shirt. Yet, instead, they were nineteen and Matthew wasn’t really all that sweet for an omega. In fact, he was kind of a passive aggressive asshole, he just knew how to hide it really well.
But, Alfred got over it. If Matt was going, then Matt was going. He just wished his brother hadn’t insisted on France. Yeah, it was okay, but Alfred had been more interested in going to somewhere like England or Germany or Spain or something. But Matt had taken French classes once when they were little, his mother had reasoned…
So they were going to France.
It wasn’t all bad though. Sure, he didn’t know any French, but if Matthew knew it then he could probably learn it twice as fast and speak it three times as better. He was an alpha, after all.
Turned out, however, that after the initial orientation and being assigned an apartment complex in the area that half catered to students from other countries, they were more or less allowed to choose from several classes at the local university—or l'université, because, you know, France. So aside from being in the same apartment, Alfred and Matthew didn’t actually have to interact all that much during their day to day activities.
Thank God.
But every morning they both had a class at eight, so it quickly became ritual to harass each other into awareness, which, more often than not, simply came down to Matthew threatening to dump ice water on him when he refused to get up and turn off his alarm. Stumbling into the elevator together that Monday morning, Alfred didn’t expect anything particularly interesting to happen as it began its descent from the seventh floor.
Arthur, to this day, didn’t know what had possessed him to pack up and move from his quaint, sensible England to France, of all places. The country ran backwards, the people were asking to be strangled upon meeting, and the food was just atrocious.
Snails. Snails.
Francis could vouch for their ‘exquisite taste’ or prod Arthur about his ‘unsophisticated palate’ as many times as he pleased, Arthur would never be on board with eating a creature covered in slime.
He supposed the move all started with wanting a change of scenery and when he spotted a vacancy as an English teacher at a prestigious school in France, well, Arthur hadn’t thought it through entirely and found himself on a plane a month later, watching the lush patchwork fields of his home ebb away under clouds.
The omega had been lucky enough to have a ‘friend’ living in close vicinity of the school he would be teaching at—Francis wasn’t so much a friend as he was someone Arthur was compelled to punch everyday but it was easier to refer to him using that ambiguous term. Even so, the beta man was living in an apartment building with a room for sale. It had been an ideal situation, except for having Francis as his neighbour.
Once Arthur had settled, he found himself enjoying the teaching a great deal, even if the location was problematic. In terms of culture shock, Arthur, begrudgingly, found that there were more similarities than dissimilarities between France and England. The language—awful frog language—was one of the few barriers Arthur struggled to overcome but he found, from exposure, his deeply buried knowledge of the French language resurfacing.
It wasn’t long before he was sufficient enough to have decent conversations and understand the telly, though he absolutely refused to adopt an accent.
It was on a Monday morning Arthur found his body unwilling to shake off its lethargy and he spent the morning yawning into a cup of tea as he avoided getting ready for another day of work.
Though Francis worked as a something-or-other at some sort of fashion boutique, he left for work at the same time as Arthur and the beta had had the brilliant idea of leaving together. Of course, Arthur had no bloody excuse—the man lived but a wall away!
When the Frenchman knocked on Arthur’s door, bright and early, the omega grumbled as he grabbed his briefcase. The beta looked as offensively well-groomed as every other day, how he did it, Arthur didn’t know. He barely had time to brush his hair, something Francis felt the need to comment on frequently.
As they walked to the lift, Francis made his habitual comment about Arthur’s unruly eyebrows, an unfortunate genetic hand-me-down, which inflamed the omega’s temper and a half-hearted spat ensued as they waited for the lift to arrive to the sixth floor. It was a routine for them by now.
There were two drowsy-eyed males already inside the lift, an alpha and an omega, almost identical looking and most likely students, Arthur gathered from their bursting rucksacks and casual clothing.
Arthur selected the floor as Francis made a backhanded remark about Arthur’s cooking to which the omega responded viciously with some of his favourite, French expletives.
French may be an unpleasant language but Arthur was more than happy to have obtained the power to insult Francis in two languages.
With nearly seventy-five percent of the world population consisting of betas, alphas and omegas weren’t entirely rare but they weren’t necessarily the default either. That only really left twelve point five for both, which really just came down to, Alfred figured, a one in eight chance of someone being an omega.
And he was fairly interested in this statistic, because he was an alpha and an alpha’s gotta date, you know? Not to imply that betas didn’t make good partners—they did—but it just wasn’t the same.
So when an omega stepped into the elevator, he paid attention, the sleepiness from before shrinking back in his mind as he tried to look nonchalant about sniffing the air.
The teasing scent of herbs and raspberries tickled his nose and made his chest warm. Not to mention the omega himself was definitely a looker—slim body, refined features, hair that looked wild but he’d bet good money that it was soft to the touch, and big doe-eyes you could probably just drown in.
… And quirky eyebrows, but Alfred was able to overlook that for the bigger picture here.
The omega was a hottie.
He tried to imagine the guy lying next to him in a bed, eyes half lidded in a come-hither bedroom expression. He liked the image. He liked the image a lot.
“Hey, Matt.” Alfred said, not even bothering to whisper as the two other men in the elevator continued on in French. The residents up to floor six were native, so the omega probably didn’t even speak English or, if he did, he probably didn’t speak it well enough to understand them. At least, that was his general impression of the country so far. The French seemed to loathe the English language and took great strides to avoid it.
“What?” His brother replied, looking up from his mobile, suspicious. Alfred knew why: he had that giddy, show-and-tell tone going on that he always did when he was eager to share something with his twin.
“Isn’t that guy over there, like... super hot?”
It took Francis all of two seconds to notice the alpha and omega accompanying them in the lift. Arthur hadn’t thought much of it, fellow omegas and alphas were relatively uncommon but it was half past seven in the morning, there wasn’t much else on Arthur’s mind other than when his next cup of tea was due and the hours until he would be swathed in his duvet again.
“Now there’s an alpha who could get you wet before your heats—ow! You violent little Englishman, what was that for?!” Francis yelped, rubbing the arm that had been whacked with theatrical carefulness.
Arthur darted his eyes to the other occupants of the lift but they’d barely reacted to Francis’ squawking. Or his words, thankfully.
“You buffoon—they might speak French!”
With a roll of his eyes, Francis said, “They don’t speak French. They’re American.”
“Shush!” Arthur attempted to conceal his discomfort but it was difficult without hitting the beta again. “It’s not difficult to understand what you’re saying! And how do you know that, anyway?”
“The name of their university is on their jackets.” Francis tipped his head towards the two, indicating as to what he was talking about. “See?”
Bristling, Arthur folded his arms and refused to humour Francis by saying anything more. The beta was right, though, fortunately for him.
“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want that alpha between your legs,” the beta crooned, pinching Arthur’s ear and grinning obnoxiously.
Arthur protested, scathingly indignant, of course, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering to the alpha in question. He was attractive, very much so. Tall with sun-kissed skin and the body of an athlete. Nothing short of a perfect specimen of an alpha, perhaps surpassing the alphas described in his erotica—niche novels. And those bright blue eyes were so lovely, the loveliness only intensified by the spectacles he wore.
Sniffing subtly, Arthur savoured the man’s scent.
He wouldn’t say no to having the alpha between his legs, as Francis had so delicately worded it, but it was out of the question. The alpha was far too young for Arthur.
It was as they were nearing the ground floor, the alpha and omega began to speak and Arthur was stunned to hear the words:
“Isn’t that guy over there, like... super hot?”
“The alpha has taste,” Francis said to Arthur, cupping a curl of his hair and flicking it back as if to display his apparent ‘hotness’. Arthur wrinkled his nose in repulsion; the alpha was obviously blind to find any semblance of desirability in Francis. “Even Americans can appreciate my beauty, what a fabulous week this is turning out to be, rosbif.”
Matthew looked at his brother. Then he looked at the two on the other side of the carriage who were clearly talking about them and, moreover, Alfred’s sudden announcement.
“... Al, I think they speak English.”
Alfred shook his head. “The French hate English!” He informed him, then added, “‘Sides, if he’d heard me then he’d be blushing or something, so there’s no way.” Which was actually a particularly astute observation for the alpha.
Well there was a way, because from the bits and pieces Matthew was picking up they were honestly understanding his idiot twin’s every word, but as he opened his mouth he thought better of it and, with no small amount of mirth, decided instead on, “I suppose you’re right then.”
“Of course I’m right. I’m always right.”
“I didn’t know you were into betas…” Matthew lured.
Alfred frowned at that. “What? No, the omega!” They were always fairly blunt with their own tastes, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary when he continued with, “Isn’t he just, like, really fucking adorable though? I wanna pick him up and take him home with me.”
“So the alpha doesn’t have taste,” Francis mused though he didn’t seem too phased by the alpha’s clarification of who he was attracted to.
Arthur, however, felt disconcertingly light-headed from the revelation. A burning flush blossomed over his face and his throat went tight.
The alpha thought he was… ‘super hot’?
“I’d be careful with your blushing, Arthur, he will surely notice,” Francis quipped, tone light with amusement.
The beta was going to get smacked again if he wasn’t careful.
Matthew tried not to laugh, but even if he was half-failing his brother just thought it was his natural ‘alpha charisma and humor’. “Alright, Al, you do that then. Take him home.”
As the elevator lurched to a stop at the lobby, Alfred walked out without so much as a flicker of concern for the beta and omega he’d left behind, carrying on merrily with Matthew, “You’ll regret that if I actually do it.”
“That would be called ‘kidnapping’. The French have a word for it too.”
“Well, when the heart wants what the heart wants…” The alpha mused, laughing.
And then they were gone out the front door and off to the university.
But not before Matthew shot back a mirthful look at the pair following after, his lip quirked and his brow raised in a conspiratorial glance that read something like: ‘This idiot, eh?’
Arthur slurped the dregs of his tea as he shrugged on his suit jacket, glowering at the door Francis was impatiently knocking on.
Bloody irritating Frenchman…
“Are you quite finished?” Arthur snapped, pulling the door open.
“Was I bothering you?” Francis returned with an infernal grin.
“Are you capable of anything besides bothering me?”
He was met only with amused silence. Locking his door, Arthur marched past Francis in an attempt to distance himself from the man—if he was lucky, he might be able to close the lift doors before Francis could reach them—however, Francis had longer than legs than Arthur and was by the omega’s side in no time, still with that blasted smirk.
“My, you are in a hurry all of a sudden, mon cher. Eager to see your little alpha again?” Francis asked.
The omega faltered. He hadn’t thought about the alpha since… last night, in bed, when he’d pictured the stranger as he had… well. No need to go into the finer details.
Arthur had spent most of yesterday thinking about the incident with the idiot in the lift—a pleasant idiot, Arthur had to admit. He had been questioned no less than three times by his fellow teachers regarding the shadow of a smile lingering on his lips. Arthur Kirkland didn’t smile, it was unheard of—unless a particularly handsome alpha had complimented him multiple times, unashamedly and under the impression Arthur couldn’t understand.
What a delightful idiot, indeed.
“Who?” Arthur said, unaffected, nonchalant.
Francis laughed. “The alpha you no doubt imagined while—”
“Shut it, will you!” Arthur glanced around; ensuring the corridor was absent of people.
Another laugh, this time stained with wickedness.
“Somebody had a pleasurable night.”
Arthur stabbed his finger against the button beside the lift doors, more than tempted to kick Francis in the shin as he did so.
“No need to worry, Arthur, if he does kidnap you today, I won’t stop him,” the beta said with a wink.
“While I appreciate your assurance that you will not assist me should I be kidnapped by a total stranger, who could be a bloody lunatic for all we know, I highly doubt we will be seeing him again.”
Which was true. While the apartment building was largely home to students due to its affordability and location, the chances of seeing the alpha again were slight at best. It was unfortunate but, realistically, what would become of seeing the American again anyway? Nothing.
Arthur reasoned that it was better to have the sweet memory of the alpha announcing that he found Arthur hot than to have the memory stained by discovering something unsavoury about the stranger or realising his words weren’t genuine.
The doors opened and Arthur stepped inside.
If there was something that could be said of Alfred, it was this:
When he found something he liked, he liked it with every fiber of his being.
Matthew had known his brother a long time—his whole life, in fact. And, be it a game, a food item, or a person, he was not ashamed to declare his feelings for things. He relished them. He put his all into them. Albeit with people, he often didn’t say that kind of stuff directly to the person’s face as that was a pretty good way of getting a one-way ticket to Rejection Town.
Alfred was an idiot, but at least he was a little self-aware of his own… overzealous enthusiasm.
How many omegas had it taken for him to learn? Did he get it by the time he was thirteen? Fourteen? That you couldn’t just declare your affection for someone and expect to get anything out of it? Maybe that’s why the alpha was so nonchalant these days—it didn’t take much at all to catch Alfred’s eye, but when it came to omegas, he was also, naturally, just as picky as anyone else.
And love hadn’t exactly been a kind mistress to him.
So it was for that reason that when they arrived at the elevator at the same time as they did every day, Matthew gave his brother a questioning look before they got on. “Are you curious to see if that omega shows up again?”
Alfred blinked. “Ome— Oh.” A peculiar expression flickered over his face, half a frown. “I guess so.” He murmured, thoughtful. “I doubt he will though.”
It was odd to see Alfred so negative about a situation like this, but it was also a realistic perspective. How refreshing.
Stepping inside, the carriage stopped at the sixth floor. Again.
Matthew blinked as the doors opened and the two from the day prior made to step inside. He knew they spoke English—he was absolutely certain. But Alfred didn’t. And when Alfred glanced at the omega and then away again, a telltale pink creeping onto to his cheeks, Matthew couldn’t help but perform his brotherly duty of hanging him out to dry.
“It’s him again.” He murmured, but not quietly enough for his words to have been private.
“Shut up, Matt.” Alfred hissed, looking uncomfortable.
“What? You figured out that they can speak English?”
The alpha went owlish. “What? No— I mean, I doubt they can.”
“So then what are you being shy for? You should ask him out.”
Alfred heaved a sigh, raking his hand through his hair and directing his gaze away at the metallic, semi-reflective surface of the inner walls. He could just make out the shape of the omega in the image. “You know, I kinda thought about that too…”
“And?”
“Well I was talking to Felix and he said French omegas really hate Americans, right? And… I mean, I don’t want him to hate me…” Alfred sounded positively dejected. “So I probably shouldn’t say anything.”
Matthew brows rose. “Wow.” He said. It was all he could think of to say. Since when did his brother consider the feelings of others? He must really like this one...
Alfred nodded sagely, crossing his arms, a gleam in his eye. “So I’ve decided that he’s just going to have to be jerk off material.” He announced, a determined inflection to his words. “If I can’t have him in real life, then at least I can have him in my mind.”
Gaping, Matthew felt even his own ears turn a little red as he tensed and wondered what their poor company must be thinking…
Arthur halted—his limbs solid as stone—in the doorway of the lift as his eyes landed on the familiar siblings. It took a sharp elbow to the back from Francis for Arthur to reawaken his legs and walk inside, stilted.
His stomach coiled around itself, nerves flitting under his skin like the chaotic flutter of wings.
The alpha was infinitely more striking in person than he was in Arthur’s vivid imaginings. Though, Arthur observed from the corner of his vision, the man had a subdued air about him that hadn’t been present yesterday.
His omega brother was the first to speak—about Arthur—and Arthur had this niggle of a feeling that the omega wasn’t quite as dim as his brother. Perhaps it was a far-fetched theory, but Arthur was sure the omega was goading his brother for his own entertainment and could comprehend every word Francis and Arthur had uttered.
Arthur listened keenly, alongside Francis who was feigning texting, as their conversation unfolded and the alpha revealed he had considered asking Arthur out.
Asking Arthur out—!
His pulse stuttered then quickened, sending thuds of heat across his body.
Yes, Arthur’s mind supplied, he was more than ready to accept the alpha’s advances but they never came. Arthur, despite himself, felt slighted when he was referred to as a French omega. And just like that, he was reduced to ‘jerking off material’.
Not that he was... offended by that too terribly. Envisioning the alpha touching himself and thinking of Arthur made the omega’s temperature soar, creating tingling ripples of warmth through his blood.
He was the alpha’s jerking off material.
Francis hummed, as if he was contemplating something.
“You? French?” the beta scoffed in the aforementioned language. “I’m insulted on behalf of my countrymen. I have no choice but to tell this American your true, unfortunate nationality.”
“No!” Arthur screeched back in the same tongue, shoving the Frenchman with a force that sent the beta careening into the side of the lift. “If you say anything, I will end you, Bonnefoy.”
Alfred and Matthew fell silent at the sudden outburst from the other side of the carriage, staring at the two albeit the omega twin had a bit more sense as to what was going on. He really had no idea how Alfred couldn’t understand the phrase: “Toi? Français?” followed by a condescending laugh…
It was obvious to Matthew that the omega his brother was crushing on—and crushing on hard—wasn’t even French. But how was he supposed to tell him that now? And did he even want to?
But the alpha made up his mind for him as he leaned back and sighed a little longingly at the stranger before glancing away. “Man, he’s so cute when he’s mad. He turns all red. Do you think he would notice if I tried to get a picture of him?”
“Um…” Matthew replied smartly, now feeling more of the pressure on himself since he knew the other two men understood all of this. “That’s probably a bad idea, Al.”
And then,
“I forgot—what was our apartment number again?”
Alfred threw him a perplexed look. “... Uh, 708, right? Why?”
“Just slipped my mind, is all.” Matthew said, determined not to look in the direction of the other passengers. “Thanks.”
“Man, you’re such a scatterbrain…” Alfred teased.
And then the elevator arrived at the lobby once more and the doors slid open and, again, Alfred strode forward without thought to the mess he’d left behind.
This time Matthew didn’t feel quite as amused as he would have liked.
This whole thing was way more serious than he’d first thought.
Two sets of owlish eyes had peered at Arthur as he went about his attempts to batter Francis into silence. With an audience, however, Arthur ceased in an instant and brushed himself down, averting his eyes, and prayed that the brothers passed the abrupt attack off as something common amongst uncultured Frenchmen.
The alpha made another comment about Arthur’s cuteness and it had an equally dazzling effect on the omega as the last time, perhaps somewhat strengthened now that the alpha had reconfirmed the sentiment.
Strangely, the omega brother enquired about their apartment number. It was said inconspicuously enough but maybe that was the point—to sound convincing. Was he really dropping hints for Arthur’s sake?
The numbers—708—sealed themselves inside Arthur’s mind much like a physical brand.
Work crawled by, tiring and languid, as if to torment Arthur and when he caught himself watching the second hand of the clock in his classroom, no better than his young students, Arthur was struck with the realisation that he was wishing his day away so tomorrow would come around faster.
Tomorrow morning, to be exact.
When he was finally home and tucking himself into bed, Arthur had argued with himself enough to come to the conclusion that, one, it was ludicrous to allow himself to become so attached to an alpha he hadn’t even spoken to, and two, he wasn’t going to get his hopes up over encountering the alpha the next day.
Come Wednesday morning, Arthur’s breath didn’t snag in his throat when the lift doors opened, he didn’t feel a burst of disappointment when he found the lift empty and he didn’t wonder where the brothers could possibly be.
He definitely didn’t wonder on Thursday morning or Friday morning when he was presented with the same, vacant lift either.