The two costume-clad boys keep running for about three blocks, before they dive into an alleyway, panting heavily. Arthur doubles over coughing, while America laughs as he slides down the wall next to him.

"Man, that was crazy," America chuckles, and combs a hand through his windswept hair. "I think that's the fastest I've ever run."

Arthur manages to cease his body spasms and plops himself down onto the concrete. "S-same here." He smiles weakly, his breathing irregular. Adrenaline is still coursing through his veins, causing his hands to shake, although not noticeably. The boys sit in silence for a few moments, thinking over what had just occurred.

However, they don't have long to sit in silence, because as soon as the sentence: "Do you think the police will be looking for us?" leaves America's mouth, they hear angry shouts of "They've escaped!" and "They can't have gotten far!", originating from about three blocks away.

Shit.

That's the only thing that comes to mind.

Well, that and 'bloody hell', but Arthur's the one who's mostly thinking that.

Either way, they're screwed, and they know it.

Frozen, the boys remain in silence, not daring to utter a word for fear of being found, when they realise that the footsteps are coming their way.

Double shit.

"Double shit? Really?" Arthur whispers indignantly. It appears that America had said those words out loud, instead of just thinking them like he'd meant to. America just shrugs to this, and Arthur rolls his eyes. It's then that he remembers WHY the phrase 'double shit' had been uttered.

"Fuck, America, we need to get the bloody hell out of here or we're going to get caught. They probably won't be stupid enough to let us out of their sights again, so we need to get away from them. Now."

America nods, his eyes wide, when he suddenly leaps into action. Jumping up, he casts his gaze around the dark alleyway they're currently situated in, and assesses the situation. "Right. That way-" he points towards the end of the alleyway- "is a dead end, so that's a no-no. The only way out of here is the way we came in, but that's where the police are, so we're basically screwed."

Arthur pauses for a moment, expecting him to go on. When it's clear that America is not going to say any more on the matter, he groans. "Oh yes, sound analysis, very well done. It's not like I could have worked that out by myself."

Sticking his tongue out immaturely at Arthur, America flinches when he hears more noises advancing towards their location. "Well, what're we going to do?" The panic is evident in his voice, and Arthur is just about to respond in exactly the same tone, when he notices-

"The bins! We can hide in the bins!"

"What, are you craz- hey!"

America begins to talk, but Arthur grabs him by the arm and pulls him towards the large grey bin opposite them, swiftly lifting it open and gesturing for America to get in.

"Are you kidding? I'm not getting in that! I'm wearing white spandex! It'll be completely ruined!"

"Shut up you twat, and get in the bloody bin! Unless you want to go to prison?"

Begrudgingly, albeit quickly, America hauls himself over the side of the surprising large waste carrier and into the small pile of trash, cringing at the smell. Arthur follows suit and carefully lowers the lid down in order not to make a sound, which engulfs the two in darkness.

"Ugh, it reeks in here!"

"Keep it down, you idiot, or they'll find us!"

"How long are we gonna have to hide in here? This totally sucks!"

"I said, keep it down!"

"Ow! Why'd you hit me?"

"You deserved it, wanker!

"Did not!"

"Stop moving about!"

"I'm not!"

"Yes you a- ow! Get off me! That hurt, you idiot!"

"Sorry!"

"And get your hand off of my knee, you twat. It's not very comfortable."

"Uh, England? That's... Not my hand."

"Then what- OH-"

"It's a little cramped in here, so your knee is touching my..."

"Oh my god-"

"Yeaaaahhh..."

"I'll never be able to look at you the same way. Ever. Jesus bloody christ."

This conversation continues on for about thirty more minutes, by which time the police have given up and gone back to the station, defeated, and the awkwardness has (almost) faded. Arthur's the first one to peek out of their impromptu hiding place, and after three more minutes of anxious watching, waiting, and listening, he dubs the coast as 'clear', and the boys climb unceremoniously out of the bin.

As soon as he's out of the bin, America glances disdainfully down at his ruined white spandex, which is covered in a multitude of smudges, grime, and other substances that probably won't ever wash out. "Aw man, I spent ages making this costume! I even learnt how to sew and everything!"'

Arthur rolls his eyes and huffs. "America, your costume was bloody awful. I bet my baby cousin could do a better job at making a suit than you ever could."

America looks offended, splutters, and then nods his head in fake sadness, a smirk playing on his lips. Arthur chuckles, and pats him on the shoulder. "Come on now, we should probably go and get cleaned up. My flat isn't too far from here, and luckily for you, I own a lot of soap. And spare clothes, for that matter."

"Great! Let's go!"

Around twenty minutes later, the boys find themselves in Arthur's flat. It's relatively small, and rather bland. No pictures hang on the walls, no little mementos perched atop cabinets, and no mess to be seen anywhere – it's almost like Arthur has just moved in. Unbeknownst to America, he's been living there for around about eight months now, and is something of a neat freak.

"Woah, England, your place is so… boring! Why is everything so grey? Where's the pile of unwashed socks that literally every student has stashed away somewhere?"

Arthur splutters, "Pile of unwashed- hey! Don't go in there!"

America has wandered into Arthur's room, and Arthur can hear him gasp as he surveys his new surroundings. "There it is!" Arthur knows exactly what he's pointing at. Yep, it's the socks.

"Come out of there, you idiot! You're all filthy and I don't want you spreading muck across my belongings!" Arthur huffs, annoyed, scowling at America as he trudges out of his room. Unfortunately, it isn't a very threatening scowl, as Arthur still has his mask on, and it's rather hard to read someone's expression through a black piece of leather. Nevertheless, America seems to get the idea.

"Right, go and have a shower. I'll get you some clean clothes to put on for when you're done."

"Thanks, England! You're the best!"

Arthur smiles, his eyes meeting America's. "You're not so bad yourself. Now, come on, we absolutely stink."

Handing America the clothes, Arthur's smile remains on his face as he watches him head into the bathroom. It seems as though a strong, and fast friendship is forming between the two small-time criminals.

Who knows what will happen next?

Well, me, obviously – I'm the writer. Oh, you know what I mean.

Until next time, my dear reader!