"If I unlock the door now, then you will learn nothing from this experience." Arthur said conversationally, eyeing his bitten fingernails critically.

It really was an awful habit, he noted unhappily, but terribly difficult to quit.

In response he received a rapid succession of heavy thuds against the fake wooden door and a muffled noise that sounded suspiciously like either "I can't breathe through the fumes of various toilet cleaners" or "Fuck you".

Arthur just shrugged and shifted against the wall, smiling charmingly at the principal as he marched past. It was most likely the latter, anyways.

"I believe this is also a good time to inform you that I do not approve of your attempts to win back Matthew." The Brit said seriously, crossing his arms. "Matthew may not hate you, but he bloody well is furious with you and he still has yet to know the entire story. And maybe he doesn't want to talk to you, but that also does not mean that you can still humiliate him via song." He paused thoughtfully, "Even if he seems to hold some fondness for you still—though I can't imagine why. He could do much better than you."

Furious thudding and some words that sounded like either "For the love of god, let me out" or "Fuck you."

"Don't thud at me, git." He snapped, deciding to ignore whatever was said. "You need to apologize and come clean." When there was no response from Alfred, Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed off the wall. "And if you can't do it, then I will."

Ignoring the frantic shouts (either "Have mercy and unlock the door" or "Fuck you", really he couldn't tell which) and banging against the door, Arthur briskly walked away.


Matthew sighed for the umpteenth time since class began ten minutes ago. The sting of Alfred's earlier Musical Confession Extravaganza could still be felt and it intensified whenever someone glanced at him, pitying smile on his or her face. Next to him, Fridrick wordlessly offered him a piece of licorice and Matthew took it gratefully, popping it into his mouth. On the other side of the Icelandic boy sat Anders, who glanced at him and only looked away when Matthew smiled reassuringly at the stoic boy.

Sucking idly on the piece of candy, Matthew wondered what Alfred would do next and how much longer he could hold out. Honestly speaking, Matthew knew he couldn't keep pushing Alfred away forever. For some reason, way beyond his comprehension and sanity, he still felt something big for Alfred. He tried ignoring it, he tried dating other people, but he couldn't just turn the feeling off.

And he found that incredibly irritating.

If only he knew what possessed Alfred two years ago that made him break off their relationship years ago…

He thought everything was going well. He put up with Alfred's less than adequate boyfriend behavior—the forgotten two month anniversary, always taking him to the same, sub-standard fast food place on their dates (unless Matthew cooked or dragged him somewhere better), the getting them caught by shouting "Whoo! My first blowjob!" when Matthew agreed to give him head backstage during their school production of Hamlet.

(Surprisingly everyone had bought the excuse that the reason they were both crammed in the prop closet with the Canadian on his knees before Alfred was that Matthew was mending a hole in Alfred's American flag boxers while he was still wearing them.)

(Arthur, though, had nearly murdered them both with his bare hands. Something about violating the sanctity of Shakespeare or something.)

Matthew thought he was a good boyfriend. He put up with Alfred's behavior and recurrent bouts of stupidity (even though he wished the blond American would exhibit some of the genius he displayed with science because seeing Alfred, blue eyes intent on some physics equation, while he gnawed his lower lip in concentration was sexy).

He was never demanding. The only time he and Alfred really fought was when Alfred interfered in someone else's busy and that person complained to Matthew or when Alfred forgot he was in a relationship and flirted with some other girl or whenever Alfred did something that Matthew couldn't just ignore (just because he was quiet does not mean he was some timid, meek mouse-boy. He played hockey, damn it. He had his moments too.).

But Alfred had broken up with him.

You don't just break up with someone for no reason, right? Right?


"Maybe you should just stay out of this." Francis suggested, boredly twirling a strand of hair around his finger while languidly walking beside Arthur.

"I can't just stay out of this." Arthur snapped, trying to speed up his pace so he could lose the other.

"Aww, how cute~" Francis purred, his pace matching the sandy-haired teenager next to him, enjoying the way Arthur's eyebrows twitched as he tried to walk faster. "You do care."

"I do not care." Arthur bit out, scowling. "Its just too bloody difficult to read when that idiot keeps blasting that ridiculous music and weeping like a sodding child and Matthew looks like he wants to die and keeps looking over at me with those teary and accusing eyes like its my fault that dolt can't exert a modicum of self-control—"

"Ohoho. You do have a heart." Francis's eyes grew dark and predatory and his voice grew husky. "How nice~"

Arthur froze, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He swallowed roughly, feeling cold terror wash over him. He dared not look at the other blond but he knew the Frenchman was leering at him.

Arthur tried to dash away when a claw-like hand grasped the soft wool of his sweater vest and tugged him back, spicy cologne enveloping him like straitjacket.

He didn't even have time to scream.


"Matthew."

Said blond turned around immediately, violet eyes widening when he saw Arthur's haggard appearance. The Brit looked vaguely shell-shocked, his crisp white shirt rumpled and unbuttoned scandalously down to his sternum and untucked from his no longer neatly pressed trousers. He was missing one polished patent leather Oxford as well as his sweater vest. One side of his hair was sticking straight up and a neat row of scarlet hickeys began below his jaw line and trailed teasingly down his neck.

"Arthur!" Matthew gasped, reaching out to his cousin who flinched away from the innocent gesture. "What happened?"

"Francis." The other teen whispered, green eyes terrified. "He dragged me into the janitor's closet on the second floor. It was so dark."

Somewhere in the background Matthias snickered, earning a venomous glare from Matthew. The Dane looked somewhat ashamed.

"Maybe you should sit?" Matthew suggested.

"Sit? Sit?" Arthur's face darkened in rage. "I barely made it out with my life, man!" He snarled, grasping Matthew by the shoulders and shaking him none too gently. "I had to sacrifice my sweater vest just to protect my virtue!" He continued to shake the captive blond. "The sweater vest! My virtue! It was compromised, dam—good heavens, Matthew. Where are your trousers?"

Matthew, dazed from the shaking and most definitely caught off guard by the non sequitur, stuttered "W-what?"

"Your trousers." Arthur said impatiently, seeming forgetting his traumatic experience in favor of Matthew's current state of undress. "You are lacking them."

"Umm…" Matthew glanced down, remembering that he had been in the middle of changing for practice when Arthur had entered the locker room. "I was changing—"

"Honestly, Matthew." Arthur continued, as though he hadn't heard a word of what Matthew had just said. "Just because you are somewhat French—being Canadian and whatnot—does not mean that you should indulge that bit of you. Why, be proud for you are of noble, English stock."

"But I was just getting ready for practice—"

"—no need to act like one of those frogs—"

"—let me just find my shorts—"

"—filthy, randy, wine-swilling perverts—"

Matthew, somewhat flustered by the other's raving and unable to find his shorts, sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. And he thought his day couldn't get any worse.

"Here." Ludwig said quietly, handing a pair of long shorts to the shorter boy.

"Thanks, Ludwig." Matthew, eyes wide and grateful, before glancing down. "Um, weren't you wearing these?"

The taller teenager just shrugged, paying no mind to the fact that he was now dressed in only boxers and a white shirt. "I have multiple spares. Feliciano tends to lose his pants at least twice a day." His face darkened as he muttered, "That useless guy…"

"—despicable shirt-lifting poof who accosts good, law-abiding servants of her Majesty and drags him into his den of baguettes and sin—"

"Thanks Ludwig."

The defenseman looked like he wanted to say something but, instead, with a pale blush on his cheeks, settled for patting Matthew awkwardly on the head before turning back to his own locker. The violet-eyed teen just shrugged away the odd behavior of his teammate before beginning to pull on his pads.

"—I'll never be clean again—"

"Um, Arthur. I have practice now, so if you could just tell me why you're here…?" Matthew questioned politely, having finished dressing and now more interested in getting on the ice than listening to his cousin's rant. The rest of the team stood idle in varying degrees of dress, interested in watching the events unfolding.

Arthur looked somewhat caught off guard, blinking slowly as though realizing where he was and why exactly he was there. "Oh, well, of course." He cleared his throat authoritatively and looked at Matthew (making Matthew, who was taller, feel as though he was about two inches tall) with imperial eyes. "This deals with both you and Alfred."

Immediately the temperature in the locker room plummeted, as everyone stilled their movements and glanced over at the pair.

"Oh." Matthew said simply, purple eyes frosting over.

"It has to do with why you two broke up." Here Arthur threw him a pitying look as he clasped the other boy's shoulder gently. "It was never your fault. Alfred is just an idiot."

"Tell us something we don't know!" Matthias shouted before Anders silenced him with a well-placed elbow to his diaphragm.

"He broke up with you because—"

"NOOOOOOO"

Arthur was violently interrupted as a blond blur slammed into him, tackling him to the ground.

"How did he get out?" Tino wondered. "We handcuffed him to the shelves."

(Somewhere the janitor was rushing to repair a shattered shelf and clean up a puddle of cleaning fluids.)

"Artie! How could you?" Alfred wailed, easily pinning down his shorter friend. "Thank Reagan I stopped you before you found Matthew."

Matthew, who had been staring wide-eyed in shock when Alfred bowled the Brit over, slowly darkened with anger at being slighted and being denied the answer to the question he had been mulling over for two years. "I'm. Right. Here. Alfred."

Alfred immediately stopped pushing Arthur's face into the floor and glanced up at Matthew with bright eyes.

"Hey, when'd you get here Mattie?" He asked cheerfully. When Matthew's face reddened in fury, he looked confused. "What'd I say?"

"You dumbass! I've been here the entire time! Pull your head out of your ass for once eh?" The Canadian snapped. A beat, then voice taking on forced politeness, "I mean, you should really pay more attention."

Alfred, eyes wide and mouth agape, just stared at him, taking in rich mulberry eyes and lips pursued in anger. "God, you're so beautiful."

Taken aback, Matthew averted his face, feeling a softer blush spread across his face and almost sighing in relief when he felt a few locks of hair fall to shield his face. Alfred, seeing the other's anger dissolve a little, quickly reached for his pocket and pulled out his iPhone and quickly pressed a few buttons, grinning when Jason Derulo began to spill from its small speakers.

Everybody's looking for love. Oh oh

Ain't that the reason you're at this club. Oh oh

"Not again." Arthur muttered from where he was still pinned under the heavier weight of Alfred. "This can't possibly end well."

"Looks like big brother's got some work to do." Matthias grinned manically, cracking his neck and knuckles ominously.

Berwald just nodded, knotting his shorts and adjusting his glasses.

"I will help this time, too." Ivan added.

"You want to put on some clothes first?" Matthias asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not really." Ivan smiled, not at all concerned about being dressed in only white briefs and his woolen scarf. He just really wanted to see Alfred's face when he grabbed him.

Raivis, whose locker was right next to Ivan's because he drew the shortest straw that season, just shuddered and looked away, trying to ignore and forget the snow-white girth of the terrifying player next to him. He also felt a surge of pity for Alfred; the other boy would probably have nightmares for weeks.

(But then he also thought the teenager deserved it, what with his treatment of Matthew.)

In my head, I see you all over me.

In my head, you fulfill my fantasy.

"I want to do awful things to you." Alfred said seductively, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously.

"What a coincidence." Matthew responded icily, purposely ignoring the thrill those words ignited in his chest. "I want to do awful things to you. Forget little deaths, Al, you'll get the real thing."

"'nd th'ts 'r cue." Berwald mumbled, stepping forward, flanked by Matthias and Ivan.


"I don't know what else to do!" Alfred exclaimed, slamming his hands down on the glossy magazines scattered in front of him. "Cosmo has no answers! Vogue is useless! And Seventeen keeps telling me I'm an autumn!"

"I'd say you're more a summer." Feliciano mentioned cheerfully, looking up from his bowl of spaghetti.

"I'd say you're an idiot." Lovino muttered, looking bored as he picked out the tomatoes from his salad. "Actually, I'd say you're both idiots."

"Be nice Lovi!" Antonio cooed in admonishment.

"Bite me."

"I don't know what to do!" Alfred moaned, gripping his hair with his hands, hissing when he accidently clutched the spot where Matthias had grabbed his hair. Again.

"So, if Matthew refuses to take your sorry ass back, he's free game right?" Gilbert asked, trying to appear uninterested even though his crimson eyes were somewhat anxious.

"No!" Alfred snapped, glaring at the albino. "He is off limits for forever times infinity plus infinity!"

"What I'm wondering, is why do you continue to consult this garbage when it failed you once already." Arthur asked while using his fork and butter knife to fend off Francis's amorous advances. "Don't think I've forgotten yesterday, frog."

"You liked it." Francis countered, winking.

"Did not!"

"You did."

"I did not!" Arthur bellowed.

"You d—"

"Shut it you two." Alfred snapped, rapidly flipping through Cosmo for the third time. "Enough foreplay. We'll all look the other way, just kiss already."

"Shut up!" Arthur snapped, shoving Francis away when the Frenchman decided to go ahead with Alfred's suggestion. "And stop reading those things already and tell Matthew the truth!" He smacked Alfred upside the head when he noticed the blond was still reading. "Don't make me tell him myself." He warned.

"But I don't know what else to do!" Alfred whined. "I thought they'd help me be a good boyfriend because everything I did just made Matthew angry and I kept ruining things and he's so wonderful and perfect sidekick material and he'd look fantastic in spandex and I just want him to love me! Why won't he love me?" Alfred wailed, head dropping to the table as he began to cry loudly. "Love meeeee!"

The rest of the boys at the table just continued to eat, pretending not to know the sobbing monstrosity in their midst.