Alfred sighed looking out the window; he was doing it again, trying to distract himself from looking over at the boy in the sweater vest across the row from him, that annoying, goddamn attractive older boy with the green eyes that shined whenever the he spoke. That boy would be the death of him.

Alfred was jerked back into the dim classroom when the boy spoke to him again, "Alfred is there something wrong?"

"Nothing," the American sighed back. It was a lie of course, everything was wrong. He shouldn't be having these feelings for another guy, especially not Arthur Kirkland, the boy who had been his best friend since 3rd grade. When they had met when Arthur and his parents had moved over from England how could Alfred ever had known that something like this would have happened? What happened to the knobby-kneed little boy of the ambassador with the funny accent? The one that tried to convince him to make really pies, not those silly mud atrocities? Back when they first became friends, when Alfred's family was beginning to become heavily involved in politics, that was when they started being inseparable, much to the chagrin of both sets of parents during the disruption of important meetings. Now look at them all, his father was currently running for presidential candidate for his party, his mother's work was well respected by several human rights NGOs, and then there was Alfred who had only been successful in falling for his best friend.

He chanced another look over, just to be met with the concerned green eyes.

God dammit.

Alfred shrugged at his friend and stubbornly stared at the smart board, willing the clock in the bottom corner of the screen to tell him he was released from his personal torment.

The minutes ticked by agonizingly slow, little white numbers changing sluggishly until the bell rang and Alfred bolted out of the room like it was on fire.

He didn't stop running until he got to his locker, finally able to breathe again. Alfred dropped his head against the cold metal. Why did this have to happen to him of all people? Why did it have to be Arthur? The American banged his head against his locker door repeatedly, until a pressure on his shoulder held him back. Feeling a shock from the sudden contact he whirled around to face the very thing that was the source of his angst. Arthur looked cross at his actions, but all the American could focus on was the hand that was warmly gripping his shoulder.

"What the bloody hell are you doing!" Arthur hissed.

Opening his mouth in an attempt to answer, Alfred shut it again. Arthur would just see through whatever he said and press the issue when Alfred refused to share what was bothering him. Only thing he could do was hope his face was not as red as it felt.

"I told you it's nothing okay, I'll see you tomorrow," Alfred said shrugging out of friend's hold. Walking away from his locker in what he refused to acknowledged was a cowardly way out, he paused to look back at the blonde who was standing by his still open locker.

Closing his eyes with a sigh he walked down to meet the chauffeur that took him home every day.

During the familiar ride through DC, Alfred took a moment to collect his thoughts. The questions rang through his head but the loudest one by far was why? Why had it been Arthur and not any of the pretty daughters of senators that his mother tried to set him up with all the time. Alfred's mind couldn't come up with a serious answer. Arthur wasn't even the hottest guy in school but he had an air about him, and when he smiled…

"Urgh!" Alfred said letting his head fall into his hands. There it goes again, damn it! His thoughts for the past week had been a one way train to Arthur central with a side stop at Angstville. There was no point in even trying to stop it anymore. Every time Alfred saw him, his feelings raged out of control.

"I wish I never had to see his face again," the American teen muttered darkly into the fabric of his school uniform.

He sighed as the car pulled to a stop; oddly no one opened the electronic gate for him. Glancing at his watch Alfred grew more suspicious, it was just about the same time that he got home any other day. Maybe they went to get coffee or something, he thought as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and hopped over the lower end of the decorative gate. Empty quiet filled the house as well as the yard, making the unsettled feeling in his stomach even stronger. "Mom? Dad?" Alfred called dropping his bag just inside the front door and walking through the house. Living room, bedrooms, kitchen, all empty of any signs of life, like something out of a horror movie. Allowing himself to panic, Alfred ran through the house to the one place he could count on never being empty, his Dad's office.

"Dad?" Alfred yelled throwing the door open. He only had a second to register his mother's broken voice shouting at him to run before the gunshot rang through the air and pressed at his ears in the silence that followed it. His brain numbly registered her brains and blood scattering the wall around the door and, in turn himself.

"Mom," he echoed, unable to look away from the stump of a neck that was now bleeding freely onto the Turkish carpets she handpicked during their last family vacation. Sensible brown hair, out of its uniform tight up-do was instead splayed out like a fan in the growing pool of blood surrounding the head. The force of the impact with the floor had freed one of the pearl pins she wore from her head and sent it rolling over the carpet to rest near Alfred's worn out sneakers. Dazed he bent down to pick it up, removing a small chunk of hair methodically from between the prongs.

Tearing his gaze away from the smeared surface iridescent surface, his eyes scraped across the room to look for his father finding him in his usual spot, strapped into his fancy puffed up leather chair.

Just in time look directly into his eyes before the flash of fire and following force called the curtain on the scene.

Pain. Pain pain pain. Ringing in his ears. Pain and darkness. Boards shifted on top of him while something cutting into his side, pressing down on him and causing him to cry out in pain. In the distance sirens sounded, getting closer and closer but never arriving. It was too late anyway. Everyone was worth saving was already dead. Was that someone calling for a paramedic?

Darkness again, but this time no pain in his side. Nothing, just the numbness that tickled at his body. Where was he? Where was his-

"Mom!" he screamed in terror, wrenching himself upright despite pain in his chest or the cloth that tucked him into the bed. His arms were held back by the machines and he struggled against the wires containing him. Alfred screeched again, disregarding the array of monitors going crazy with their mocking noises. People rushed into the room shouting orders for sedatives, holding Alfred down against the bed until the world of noise ebbed away into silence once more.

The third time Alfred regained consciousness, he woke feeling oddly calm. It was still dark, but he could hear something that gave him a small bit of comfort.

"Okay I understand, I'll tell him."

Him.

With that accent there was no mistaking it.

Why was he here? Alfred wasn't sure whether he should be happy or upset that Arthur was here. Putting his uncertainty on his list of things to be addressed later the American decided to stay put, waiting to see if something else would happen. He listened to the muffled footsteps of the nurse walk away, and the scraping of a chair as it was dragged over to the side of his bed.

He felt a gentle hand on his head, smoothing back his hair before he hear him speak. "Alfred you're going to be okay," there was a slightly tremble in the Brit's voice that betrayed his true thoughts on that matter, but still it provided some sense of comfort that Arthur would say that for him. Even though Arthur knew that Alfred had known him far to long to not be able to tell when he was lying.

Alfred put on a smile anyway, "Artie?"

"Arthur," the Brit replied automatically before sucking in a breath. Alfred's smile brightened, he couldn't be hurt too badly if Arthur still had the heart to correct him.

After a long moment of silence Alfred figured out that it was his turn to speak. "Everyone's dead?" he managed to ask with what he liked to think was an even voice. Yep, he was going to be calm and reasonable about this and then. Well he would handle it.

"I'm sorry Alfred, I'm so sorry. The police are looking into what happened. They want to talk to you about what you saw, but the Doctors are making them wait," Arthur rushed, his hand twitching slightly where it rested on Alfred's hair.

Alfred open his eyes to peek at Arthur's expression, only to be met with more frustrating darkness.

"Why is it dark in here?" Alfred asked annoyed, blinking and trying to get his eyes to adjust frustration growing as his vision didn't adjust after a few seconds. It wasn't even dark per say, it was just empty. No lights no colors, not even little lights from the machines he could hear beeping steadily beside him. He felt Arthur pull one of his hands away, but he didn't answer.

"Arthur?" the American asked, his voice rising in pitch out of panic.

"Alfred it isn't dark in here."

"Dude this isn't even funny. Turn on the lights."

"Alfred-"

"Turn on the lights! Arthur please turn on the lights!"

The pace of the monitors began to pick up speed.

Alfred felt something warm cover his chest, squeezing him lightly and for the most part avoiding the tender spots on his abdomen. Along his neck hair brush the skin under his chin and it occurred to him that Arthur must have been giving him a hug. Arthur. The same Arthur who absolutely abhorred intimate physical contact of any kind. Swallowing, Alfred slowly calmed back down, bringing down the monitors as well. Awkwardly, he tried to hold Arthur there with the one arm that wasn't immobilized in bandages.

"I can't see," Alfred whispered brokenly into the hair he knew would be sticking everywhere in a blonde mess.

He might have imagined it but Arthur hugged him tighter.