Chapter 2! USUK has truly begun, my dears. And without further ado...enjoiii!~

"Hey, hey, wake up."

Go away...I was having a good dream...

" The professor's coming! Al!" Someone shoved his shoulder.

What professor? Why are professors in my dream? There should only be good food and...

Smack. A yell of surprise. Fall. Crash.

"Oooowwww..." he moaned loudly. He could hear snickering from all directions.

Slowly, he picked himself up from the floor, rubbing his dried-out contact lenses so they came into focus. He regretted doing so immediately afterward, since he found himself face to face with Professor Davis's aggravated glare. The man, around his mid-thirties with a receding hairline, was not one to be messed with. And Alfred had crossed the line one too many times.

"Mr. Jones! I suggest you spend more time studying and less time drinking. It will greatly prolong your lifespan," the man lectured sternly.

Alfred wondered why all Brits had to speak so sarcastically. Wasn't it inefficient for the sake of communication?

"Sorry, sir," the American replied, scratching his head as he resettled in his stool. He hated these stools. They were wobbly and wooden, unlike the bar's, and it was so hard to get some sleep in during class. He studied film, so most of his classes were either about technique or communications. But as of right now, he was a class about graphics, which unfortunately for him was a.) in the morning b.) a small class so it was hard to skip out on and c.) taught by a really pissy professor. The stools were another wonder altogether, since apparently the university failed to secure proper sitting material for any classroom with computers in them.

"This is the fourth time this week! Get yourself together! I'm sure you have more than just my project to work on!" And with that, Davis trudged back down to the front of the classroom and continued his lecture.

Ok, so maybe he was a little sleep-deprived. But that was all because of his part-time job at the Hub, which was genuinely the most enjoyable part of his day. The only downside was that it cost him around four hours of sleep.

The truth was that when he took the job on somewhat of a very powerful whim, he knew that it was going to drastically affect his studies. Unlike most other fields, film required a lot of time spent on projects. In fact, Alfred had only taken up the video camera once this week, which was like a sure road to failure.

However, he had no intention of quitting the job. He was starting to think that it was going to change his life. No, it wasn't because he saw far-flung potential in a career as a bartender, but because of something, or someone, who had practically pin wheeled into his life without warning. It was painfully cliché now that he thought about it, but it was also proof. Proof that he had been searching for.

Alfred led a simple life before he came to London. Well-to-do family in the New York suburbs, nice parents, a younger twin brother, and two hyperactive dogs. It was the very epitome of the average happy American family. His dad was a successful actuary, and his mom stayed at home with the brothers. He had always been the outgoing one in the family. Quarterback in high school, dated all the hot girls, etc. etc.

Things began to change when college came around. He got miraculously accepted into the Columbia University, in which he decided to study film. Initially, his dad was completely opposed to the idea. There were an endless plethora of reasons, like how it was an unstable job and he had little opportunity to lead a successful career. But Alfred had always been captivated by Hollywood for as long as he can remember. Aside from the fact that he had devoured too many bags of popcorn to count, the stories that the theatre showed him seemed magical, about heroes and love and happy endings. Perhaps it was naïve for someone whose father lived and breathed Wall Street, but he knew that he personally wanted to make all of that happen.

A year into his college career, he suddenly received a letter of recommendation to study abroad. In London. He was caught off guard at first, and didn't know what to do. The adventurous part of him wanted to go, but the less-outgoing part of him drew back. He had never been out of North America before. He had no idea what to expect.

But what surprised him even further was his parents' urging for him to accept the opportunity. Gain some insight, they told him. Go see the world. So he did.

And now as he sauntered along the streets of London in the weak afternoon sun, surrounded by different tributaries of people and bikes and cars feeding into the same swift, wide river of movement, he felt glad. It blended together around him to form a prism of rushing shades. The glory of the Victorian age mixed together with the modern century and its deluge of technology. That was the magic of this city. He didn't quite understand it, but it was something just on the edge of being tangible. It was something he had learned to become a part of bit by bit.

There were no classes for the rest of the day. He had spent the past few hours in the library finishing up that project Davis had assigned, and was now wandering around London with a camera in one hand. There was still a good two hours left before work. During blissful pockets of time like these, he liked to simply walk. Down the streets, crossing roads on spontaneous whims. It all reminded him too much of that day. That one afternoon a year ago that became more and more vivid in his imagination as time brought him further and further away from it.

It rained that day. A mid-August drizzle that cast a mysterious mist over the new and ancient buildings. He had no umbrella, only a casual, hooded sweatshirt which he pulled ungracefully over his head. He had that, and a camera. He waited under the ledge of some clothing shops for the rain to pass, meanwhile taking aimless photographs of people in the rain. The thing he liked about Londoners was that they were always dressed for a photograph, no matter what time of day or season.

And that was when he saw him. A little ways down the empty block. Through the lenses of a small, palm-sized camera, a man. A beautiful man, standing under a black umbrella, peering through a store's windows at the display of Rolex watches, in what looked suspiciously like a Burberry trench coat and a pair of very nice leather boots. But all of this was only details that Alfred noticed later. The first thing that he saw was not the expensive clothing or even the neatness of his character. It was his soft, blonde hair and thick, golden eyebrows, and two brilliant emerald eyes that belonged in a movie. He had a trim figure, the kind that subconsciously formed an elegant sphere around the whole of his being. An air of indifferent grace.

The camera clicked away at lightning speed. He wanted to capture this moment. This man. He felt a desperate need to remember him forever.

Which was why he was caught off guard when the young man suddenly snapped his head around to face him with an indignant expression on his face. "Excuse me." Perfect Queen's English. Go figure. "I might be mistaken, but were you just taking photos of me?"

Alfred lowered the camera and gave him a mischievous smile. "What if I was?"

His lovely green eyes narrowed, jaw tightening. "Give it here!" he demanded, arm outstretched.

"As if." Alfred rolled his blue eyes playfully at the Englishman, and tucked the camera away in his pocket. Then, without knowing what he was doing, he spun on his heel and began to walk away.

Just as Alfred had hoped, he heard quick footsteps approaching him from behind, then abruptly a forceful hand that spun him around. "This is an invasion of privacy! Those photos belong to me, so kindly return them!" But all Alfred was thinking was how his features were even more intricate up close. And that he was taller than he appeared. He had long, blonde eyelashes and a perfectly straight nose.

Alfred only grinned back. "Nice eyebrows," he laughed.

It had the desired effect. The beautiful man flushed, his cheeks turning a pinkish-red hue against the pale skin. Somehow, it didn't bother Alfred at all that he was thinking such thoughts about a man.

"Bloody Americans…" he growled under his breath.

"Whoa! Hey, don't be so hard on America. It's just me," Alfred smiled back. He would say anything just so the Brit would stand there a few seconds longer, even if it meant being cursed or glared at.

But he wasn't glaring anymore. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, as he looked back at Alfred with an expression of mild curiosity. Then, suddenly-

"Come with me." He took the American harshly by the arm and dragged him towards a Starbucks on the other side of the street. The rain had stopped. Alfred gladly followed.

"So." The Englishman sat down in a very business-like manner on the other side of the table. "How should I begin? Right, my name is Arthur Kirkland."

"Alfred F. Jones. Hailing from Hudson County*, New Jersey." Alfred leaned forward in his chair, captivated.

"Alright, moving on. I have a job offer," he said.

"Job offer?" Things were getting interesting very fast.

"So, basically…" And Arthur explained the details of the job. How he wanted a bartender. But not just any bartender. He had to be foreign, a young man, and good-looking. But most of all, he needed to be able to smooth-talk the girls.

"What are you opening? A male cathouse?" Alfred snickered.

Arthur frowned, thick, golden brows furrowing. "Cathouse*?"

"You know. Where all the prostitutes-"

"No!" he immediately interjected. "No. It's a restaurant."

"Sure…"

"What's with that doubt? I'm serious here!"

"I can see that…"

"Well? Yes or no?"

Alfred fixed him with a sly smile. "Well…it sounds like that you really need staff urgently, huh…""…Yes," he admitted grudgingly. "Look, just give me an answer. I don't want to waste my time with you if you won't consider the job seriously."

"This is coming from the guy idly staring at Rolex watches ten minutes ago," Alfred teased.

"Sh-shut up! The new line just came out!" He crossed his arm over his chest, slightly embarrassed.

"What? Poor little rich boy out of money? Did daddy cut you off?" Alfred continued to taunt him with a huge grin. It was too fun, seeing that exquisite face come to life.

"Excuse me! Little? How old are you? Seventeen?"

"Nineteen."

"Oh, well that makes me, one, two, three, four years older than you."

Alfred froze. He stared at the man across the table from him. Alfred expected him to be at most the same age as himself. But four whole years older?

"Really?"

"No, actually, I'm twelve. Yes, really!" he rolled his eyes sarcastically. He took a deep breath to compose himself. "At any rate. We come back to the root of the problem. Yes or no?"

Alfred pretended to contemplate for a while. Then, he leaned in closer with an increasingly devious smile on his lips. Truth be told, he had no idea what he was doing. None at all.

"I'll do it," he whispered, "If you sleep with me."

A pause. But Arthur remained a lot calmer than he had expected. In fact, he seemed to be deep in thought. Then, finally, "What was it that gave me away? Was it the Rolex watches?"

Alfred frowned. Gave him away? "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Arthur clenched his jaw together. "What was it that gave away the fact that I'm a…you know…"

"You're a…" Alfred stared at him, puzzled.

"A homosexual, you idiot!" he said through his gritted teeth.

"You are?"

"Shshshshshsh! Keep your voice down! The whole bloody country's going to hear!" Arthur quickly shushed.

"But wait…really?"

"Yes, really! Are you saying that you aren't?"

"No…I don't know…" He was suddenly having second thoughts about his sexual orientation.

"Then why did you ask me to sleep with you?"

"I don't know…I like you."

Arthur said nothing. He was silent for what seemed like a millennia. Then, the unexpected happened.

"Just…one night," Arthur mumbled hesitantly.

A surge of blinding joy began to burst from inside Alfred's stomach, like tiny little fireworks. "Just one."

"Fine. Just one."

"Hey, Al!" The striking, silver-haired man waved at him from behind the bar counter. He was in early every day. Alfred had no idea why, since the bartenders had no reason to come as early as the rest of the staff. The kitchen always needed preparation, but the bar, not so much, and it opened later anyway.

It was only five in the afternoon, the official opening time of the Hub on weekdays, and there were already a loose assortment of single university students scattered around the room. A few girls giggled and waved to him as he walked past. What were their names again? He could never remember. Unlike Gilbert, who had to have some sort of trick to memorising things. He got the guy talking about atomic bombs once. He regretted it.

Sometimes, Alfred wondered why he never learned anything useful from Gilbert. The German showed him the ropes, from cocktails to hitting on women, but that was all he ever learned. Now he knew the name and proof of every single substance on the shelf behind him, and he also knew what to say to girls (which came more naturally than the alcohol), but he still didn't understand a thing about physics. It was people like Gilbert that made him feel like he had achieved nothing at all in his twenty years of life.

He had to admit that when he first met Gilbert, his first reaction was that he appeared a little odd with a hint of sinister, but still stunning nonetheless from an artistic point of view. Then he immediately began to worry whether or not he was sick. When Alfred finally asked about his hair and eyes, Gil simply shrugged and said "Dunno. Was born with it. Genetic mutation?" They quickly became friends after that. Alfred discovered that he was a lot more easygoing than he appeared, though he had this warped philosophy about how love doesn't exist. Alfred, for one, knew that it did, but didn't say anything. He knew that love did exist, and that it was very, very real. In fact, so real that it was only one door over, in the manager's office.

The night was pretty normal, but 'normal' at the Hub took on a whole new meaning. Somewhere during the supper rush, Elizabeta, the hot waitress who went to the same university as him, came up to him and Gilbert telling them about two girls who wanted to hook up. Hook-ups ceased to hold any meaning after the end of the third night he worked here, though he refrained from them in general. What he was actually concerned about was the way that Elizabeta was always slightly disgruntled at work. She was perfectly fine out of work though. They ate lunch together on-campus sometimes. She was nice, pretty upbeat most of the time, and told the funniest anecdotes about college. She was smart, too, like just about everyone else who worked at the Hub.

Which brings him to the real problem. Arthur. By the time he started working here, he knew that he had fallen irrevocably in love with him. But he soon realised that feelings were far from mutual. Apparently, Arthur was serious about the "just one night" thing, and continued to ignore his advances afterwards. All he ever does was lecture Alfred about this and that, and order them around like a proper boss. Alfred could only oblige. And after working there for a few months, he soon realised that he himself was nothing special as a human being. He was mind-boggled by the rest of the people in the staff. The Beilschmidt brothers and their infinite brain capacity and ability to build something phenomenal out of absolutely nothing. The two Chinese cousins, Yao and Horace, who both tested out of China with top grades in their respective provinces. The fine arts major Feliciano Vargas who conjured up the most radiant and chromatic oil paintings from some secret chamber inside his airy head. And finally, Arthur himself, who seemed to know everything about selling and buying and how to obtain money.

It was then that he knew. He had to work hard. Harder than he was working now, to catch up to the rest of them. Sure, most of them had a few years on him, but he thought that maybe if he tried extra hard, he could elevate himself to the same level of brilliance as the rest of them. The rest of them? No. Arthur. It was always Arthur that he was chasing after. He would gladly chase after him forever.

"Hey, Al, take care of things for a few minutes. I'm going to…talk with an old acquaintance," Gilbert said out of the blue, as he grabbed the bottle of Everclear and added a suspiciously large amount to a glass of cocktail.

"Uh…Gil? Isn't that dangerous?"

Gilberts blood-red eyes sparkled with artful menace. "Exactly." Then, he left Alfred to handle the girls alone.

Alfred chuckled and shook his head. Gilbert Beilschmidt never changes. Who was the poor victim this time? He watched as Gil walked up to a studious-looking, raven-haired young man with square spectacles sitting at a table by himself. Elizabeta, quite coincidentally, was also talking with him. Alfred knew that Gil and Liz had known each other since childhood, but had no idea what their past relationship was. Were they exes or something? Liz was always so hostile towards Gil.

Then, like always, Ludwig broke in and shooed the both of them back to their jobs.

After about fifteen minutes, Alfred vaguely noted that a blonde guy with a strict face entered and joined the raven-haired man at the table. But it wasn't until Arthur came into view that Alfred really began to pay attention. The three of them talked for the next hour and a half or so. Arthur and the blonde seemed to have a lot to talk about, despite both appearing not to be the type for socialising. Alfred tried to carry on conversations with the girls crowded around the counter, but only half his mind was listening. Fortunately for him, all of the girls were tipsy enough that it didn't really matter.

"Who are they?" he asked Gilbert, who seemed to know more than he did.

"Oh. The prissy-looking one there is my cousin Roderich." Alfred assumed he meant the one with glasses. "And the other bloke, I'm not sure. Roderich mentioned a friend who was studying at Imperial. I'm guessing that's the one."

Studying at Imperial? This probably meant that he knew Arthur. Which probably meant that they were just classmates, right? Or not? It was times like these that he felt he was losing his patience. It was very hard to keep track of a homosexual man you're in love with. Men typically had many more male friends than female. Which gave him several times more the opportunity to get "involved" with someone else.

Towards the end of the night, Roderich finally decided to down the cocktail, after which Gilbert lost his nerves and laughed viciously for a whole five minutes. Then he said, "I think we should both step outside for a bit, Al. So we don't get in trouble. Shift's pretty much over anyhow."

Alfred nodded. Gil then immediately turned to that strawberry blonde he was talking about earlier and said with a seductive smile, "Hey. Wanna go somewhere more…private?" She went with him unhesitatingly. Alfred shook his head at the way all the girls fell prey so easily to people like Gilbert, Francis, and even himself. Were they really that blind?

"Sorry, girls. Party's over," he said with an apologetic smile, and slipped quietly into the crowd.

But before he could quite get to the door, he was suddenly stopped by a gentle tug at his sleeve. "Um…excuse me?" It was a timid little voice. He turned around to find a girl, with pretty, round, turquoise eyes and a slight frame staring up at him nervously. He didn't recognise her, and she didn't seem like the sort that usually hung around the bar anyway. She was dressed in a flowery sundress, and had a little bow tied to her short, blonde hair.

"Yes?"

"Uh…sorry but…could you please do me a huge favour and…walk me to the nearest Underground* entrance…I'm afraid…of the dark but I…really need to catch the last train." London was far from dark, thought Alfred, but he laughed and said yes anyway.

They walked for a long time in silence. Then, she spoke out of the blue. "I'm sorry for all the trouble! I really…am useless."

Alfred frowned. "Don't say that. Anything for a lady." A pause. "But if you don't mind me asking, why were you there in the first place? You don't really seem like the type."

"Ummm…it's because…of Gilbert…" Oh, Gil. Why do you have to wreak havoc on the lives of so many women? "I…know that I really have no chance…so I'm just glad looking from afar…and I usually leave before it gets this late…but today…my brother suddenly came in…and I was afraid he would see me…so I couldn't leave my seat."

"God, you sat there for all that time?"

"Ummm…yes…please don't laugh…"

"No, I'm just a little concerned, that's all."

"Ummm…thank you." She gave him a shy little smile. She really was like a china doll.

"Who is this brother of yours anyway? I'm just curious."

"Oh…ummm…Basch. He seems really serious on the surface, but he's actually really nice. And he's really smart, too. He goes to Imperial College London." Figures. Another one. "He was with his friend today, I think. The nice man from Austria. I've seen him once before when I was younger…I think he knows Gilbert."

Wait…Austrian who knows Gilbert. Could it be that… "Roderich?"

"Ah! Yes, that was his name. Do you know him, too?" she asked. She seemed a lot happier since they started talking about her brother.

"No. I know Gilbert, though. He's Gil's cousin, by the way." So her brother Basch must be the one talking with Arthur...

"I see…"

"Hey, where are you from? Not the UK, surely."

"Switzerland," she answered. So a Swiss guy named Basch…

They slowed to a stop in front of the Underground entrance. "There you are."

"Thank you so much for all your trouble! I'm so sorry!" she apologised again.

"It's nothing, really…Hey, I never got your name," Alfred suddenly added.

"Oh…umm…my name is Liliane, but everyone calls me Lili." She gave him a sweet smile, then apologised again.

As she disappeared into the Underground, Alfred yelled after her, "You should look for somebody better than Gilbert! He's not really all that, you know! He just puts on an act!"

Alfred didn't know whether or not she heard him. But he was no longer concerned with that. So a Swiss guy named Basch with a really cute little sister named Lili…

The Hub was silent. Silent and calm and spotless. Every time, after everybody else had gone, it felt surreal. Standing in the middle of the empty room with his reflection portrayed clearly on the black marble floor, Arthur began to ponder. Was this real? Or was that one the real one? The one filled with laughter and toasts and loud voices all competing against each other. It was like looking through a misshapen kind of mirror. On one side, quiet and undisturbed, stillness almost deadly. Looking through to the other side was everything else that was supposed to be. All the noises of life.

Arthur shook his head and strode towards the door, the clicking of his footsteps resounding clearly against the walls. He was imagining things again. Growing sentimental.

The wide, glass, double doors delivered him out into the London night air. It was the drier season, so the air felt crisp and light. Arthur checked his watch. It was exactly 1:30 am. Then, he looked across to the city in the night. The stream of cars had slowly thinned. There were only a few pedestrians left, all either drunk or heading home. The lights glowed quietly. But they never went out.

This was what Arthur liked about London. It was gentle at night, but ever-present. And when the sun came up, it burst forth like new wave of life. And so it went. On and on, for years and years and years. No. The city never changed. It simply moved.

"Yo, Artie!" a cheerful voice attacked him from behind.

Arthur jumped, caught unawares, and stumbled around into Alfred's bone-crushing hug. He quickly pushed the American away, sputtering in his flustered state. "Have you no concept of personal space?"

"Guess not," Alfred shrugged.

"What are you doing here? I thought you left already with that girl."

"I did. I took her to the Underground since it was the 'chivalrous' thing to do, and then I came back," he grinned.

Arthur snorted at the 'chivalrous.' He knew that Alfred was only joking, but it was still quite ridiculous. "Well, it seems that you just wasted ten minutes walking back here. I'm leaving."

"Yeah, and I'm going with you," he announced.

"No! Go home!" Arthur snapped. He had no patience for this childish behaviour right now. "It's past midnight. Don't you have classes tomorrow?"

"Afternoon classes. I was thinking of skipping anyway," Alfred shrugged. He was keeping in pace with Arthur's brisk legs.

"Skipping's not good, despite whatever Gilbert tells you."

"How do you know what Gilbert tells me?"

"Because he tells everyone the same thing." Arthur knew this all too well. There were certain things that Gilbert told everyone, and certain things that he only told a few people. Arthur highly suspected that there were also certain things he told no one. But then again, the same rule applied for the average human being.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Stop asking pointless questions and go home now."

Alfred puffed out his cheeks, annoyed. "So, that guy you were talking to today. What was his name?"

"Oh, you mean Basch?"

"Yeah, him."

"What about him?"

"How do you know him?"

"We go to the same university. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. He just looked kinda…suspicious."

Arthur frowned. Suspicious? Basch? "How so?"

"Like…kinda shady, you know what I'm talking about? Like a drug dealer."

"My God, you've got to stop filling your head with television." He didn't understand how Alfred's brain worked. Most people daydreamed when they're bored and have nothing to think about. But it was like the complete opposite for Alfred. It was like he could be diffusing a bomb and still have random daydreams at the same time.

"I study film. That's kind of impossible."

"I realise that. But I don't suppose every film major who ever lived go around thinking about serial killers and finding their so-called one true love all day long," Arthur commented with dry sarcasm. Arthur sped up his pace, but Alfred matched it with no sweat at all. Curse the brute and his abnormal strength.

"I don't."

"You don't what?" The American also had this nasty habit of not finishing his sentences.

"I don't go around thinking about finding my one true love." A pause. "Because I've already found it."

Arthur heaved a great sigh. "Not that again."

Alfred immediately grew indignant. "What's your problem, huh? Why won't you take me seriously?"

"Because you don't think with logic, which is why I don't trust your decisions," Arthur answered matter-of-factly.

"Love is illogical."

"Yeah, well, at the speed you're going, you'll be falling in love every day of the week."

That shut him up for a few minutes. But not long enough. Just as Arthur was about to hail an oncoming cab, Alfred stepped in front of him in a flash and abruptly pinned him against the large glass, display window behind him. They were close enough their noses almost touched. He felt Alfred's hot breath on his face. Arthur simply glowered back into his cerulean eyes, darkened by the night. But he was unable to move, frozen in place like a statue. Was he scared? No. Alfred didn't scare him. He pushed the thought aside.

"Get out of the way. Or I will call the police on you," Arthur warned.

"Go ahead. If that's what'll convince you that I'm serious."

"Don't be an idiot, Alfred. I told you it was just one night."

"I know. Then was then. Now is now."

"There's no difference for me."

"At least give me a chance!"

"Get out of the way!" Arthur finally found the strength in his limbs, and shoved Alfred aside. He hurried over to the edge of the street and waved a cab. Without looking back, he quickly flung open the door and slipped in, slamming the door behind him with more force than necessary. He muttered the address to the driver and slumped back on the seat, turning his head to look out the window on the opposite side so he wouldn't have to see the expression on Alfred's face. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I fucking mad? Why don't I just fire him and be done with it? Am I a masochist?

He saw nothing as the streetlights flew past the window one by one. Only different images playing back and forth in his head. Different images, different faces, different voices.

"… your brother…"

"…you're a homosexual, aren't you…"

"…brother!..."

"…I don't believe…"

"…It's an illness…"

"…you're foolish …"

"…ungrateful…"

"…if you sleep with me…"

"...I'm sorry..."

"…need money…"

"…I like you…"

Who am I kidding? I can't even find rhyme or reason in my own life. Who am I to lecture him on making decisions? And he sighed. There was too much. The influx of vivacious colours and sounds. They ceased to make sense to him. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think. At all.

1 Hudson County, New Jersey- for those of us who don't live around New York, Hudson County is technically part of New Jersey, but close enough to New York City (you can see it) that it's considered New York suburbs, as Alfred mentioned earlier.

2 Cathouse- American/Canadian slang for brothel.

3 Underground- the London Underground is London's subway system.

And there's the intro to USUK! [Insert same disclaimer as Chapter 1] Alright, so there's not much to say here. Once again, I credit/dedicate/ this to my best friend The Strawberry for her support and general awesomeness. I will be repeating that after each chapter, yes, because she really is amazing. ~~ and The Strawberry, if you are by any chance reading this, which I doubt you will since you have my original documents, you are awesome and don't forget it.

Once again, the next chapter will be PruHun. And yes, there will be a lot more character interaction here on out. Leave your comments and whatnot via review! I have to know how I did. If I made mistakes, I really do try and go back to change them if I have time! So please review~~~ Thanks.