AN: Heyo. Merry Holidays! I hope you're having a good one! I'm having a strange one, weather be like, "Bitch, I don't know who you think I am, but Imma change on you!" Yeah, the weather's being kind of… stupid. Here's the next chapter!
Enjoy:
Chapter 3
"Dude? What was that about? Also, would you mind helping me out of the window frame? I am still stuck… and it's starting to hurt."
Arthur groaned loudly, "Fine, but I'm going to call a professional." The grumpy Brit stalked off and called someone to remove the door frame to get Alfred out.
Meanwhile, Alfred sat there looking around the inside of the bushy-eyebrowed Brit. He smiled slightly, remembering the times they would fight pointlessly in middle and high school. "Still the same I see…" Alfred mumbled under his breath his smile growing ever so slightly.
"What was that?" Arthur had just walked in, an annoyed expression on his face.
Now it was the American's turn to turn red and be flustered. Instead of showing his flushed face he laughed, awkwardly and forced at first before bursting into actual laughter.
The British man just stood there, a frown had settled itself on his face, "Whatever you're laughing at, could you shut up for the moment, I have some…." He paused, thinking about how to say the rest, "news."
The American looked up, shutting himself up, "What's up?" Alfred still had a goofy looking smile despite the silent room.
"You're going to be stuck in that window for a while." The bushy-eybrowed blonde stated.
Alfred groaned, "How long? Dude, I swear if it's any more than an hour then I'll-"
"Four hours, Alfred. Four. Hours." Arthur cut him off gritting his teeth and sighing.
"Nonononononono! Frick! Man, my bro Matthew is going to kill me! We were going to watch a hockey game. AND he was really excited about it!" Alfred started yelling and tearing up.
"Calm down, I've met Matthew, he's the nice quiet kid, right? He wouldn't hurt anyone." Arthur said trying to quiet down the slightly over-weight man.
The glasses clad man gasped, "Not when it comes to hokey, because when it comes to hockey, Matthew could kill." The blue-eyed man looked at the Brit with sheer terror.
"You're over exaggerating! I'm sure he might get a little upset, but he wouldn't come after you for it." Arthur said surely. "What time does the game start?"
"What time is it?" Alfred asked shakily.
The blonde Brit glanced at the clock, "Eighteen hundred."
"DUDE!" The American yelled, "I need the right time! Don't make up some random hour!"
"I'm telling the truth! You just can't understand what the rest of the world uses!" The Brit shot back.
"Ugh, whatever dude, just can you put into American terms?" The glasses clad man frowned.
Arthur stood in his spot for a while thinking, "I'm not sure but I think it's six in the evening for you, but there's another difference which I believe is around five hours, hold on… you said you were going to watch the game with Matthew. Does that mean Matthew is in the UK as well?"
"Yeah, it's the whole reason I'm here. He's visiting someone in the UK and he decided to take me with him. Also if it's six here, the game starts at one there… so that means…" Alfred was sharply cut off by the sound of his phone going off. "Ah, shit man! That's probably Mattie! I am so dead!" The overweight American started freaking out. "Grab my phone will ya? It's in the front pocket of my jacket!"
"Well, why can't you?!" Arthur threw back.
"Um, I don't know, maybe my HANDS are stuck! If you've forgotten I'm kind of stuck in the window frame!"
"Well it's your bloody jacket, wanker!" The bushy-browed Brit denied.
"Duuuude! I kind of need to answer! It's Mattie and I need to give an explanation so he doesn't kill me!" Alfred argued, squirming.
"Bloody hell, Alfred!" The grumpy Brit yelled, "You know what? Fine, I'll pick up that damned phone for you!"
Arthur went over to the squirming American and sighed grabbing the phone out of the pocket. Arthur looked up only to see the American's face right next to his.
Acting on instinct, Arthur shoved the phone in Alfred's face and screamed quietly, face exploding. "There's the phone you bloody wanker!" With a volcanic face he yelled quite loudly.
The glasses clad man had yelped in surprise along with the thick browed man. Looking for the phone, he found that it was on the counter, just out of reach.
The phone stopped ringing.
"OH SHIT!" An obnoxious scream came from the American.
To be Continued.
