Wow third chapter was very difficult for me. Maybe because my mind wanders too much! Okay, all of my chapters are really really short. And that's a problem! It's most likely because my teachers keep telling me to write less...woops I'm off topic! -This is my problem. Anyways, I'm just starting with the plot, but after this I want to get the plot driving a little more. Maybe I might pull it back for a couple of chapters...I have some ideas, but I can't put them into words. Sadness. Please enjoy!

Warnings: Strong language

Disclaimer: I do not own hetalia!


Arthur opened one of the heavy oak doors into the school's small library. He sat down at an empty table near the window and reached into his backpack for his white earphones. The library was mostly deserted except for one square table with three students talking loudly next to him. He began to eavesdrop on them through his Complete American History textbook.

One of the students asked "hey are you going to the football game later today?"

The second one had a harsh, raspy voice. "I don't know, is Alfred gonna be there?"

Arthur's heart jumped. Just the sound of Alfred's name made him unconscientiously smile.

"He wasn't gym today…" the first one began.

The second student combed his hand through his silver hair. "We'd lose anyways, why go? Ludwig is good, but he's not as good as Alfred when it comes to football…"

Alfred wasn't here today? His heart began to beat faster.

"Michelle [1] told me he was sick, and she would know. I wouldn't be surprised if he turned out to have mono or someone other STD."

The third guy rolled green his eyes. "Francis, Michelle doesn't know shit. Katrina told me that he was at her grandfather's pizzeria yesterday with that British kid."

Everything all became clear to Arthur. Alfred was embarrassed to be seen with him. He began to feel a mix between misery and rage.

"I bet he poisoned him…"

Arthur clenched his hands into fists making his knuckles turn white.

"Gilbert, you are way off," The third student responded.

Gilbert rolled his red eyes.

Francis yelled "I think you and Antonio are both idiots!"

"Katrina wouldn't lie to me…" Antonio began.

"Oh, I forgot that Katrina is such a good girlfriend." Francis mocked.

"We're not dating!"

"Instead of being idiots, let's just go ask him! Hey!" Gilbert called out.

Startled, Arthur fell over in his chair letting his papers cascade to the floor.

"Woah, I didn't mean to frighten you…"

Arthur mumbled "it is fine." He resituated himself into his chair before shuffling for his textbook and notes.

"Then can we ask you a question?" Francis asked.

Arthur nodded.

"Why isn't Alfred in school today?"

Arthur shrugged. Filled with rage he lied "I don't know. I don't even know who Alfred is."

Gilbert exclaimed "told you!"

"Thanks for your help. By the way, there's a piece of paper on the ground which I think is yours." Antonio pointed to a small crumbled paper and went back to conversing.

Arthur bent down and unfolded the paper note.

Artie, I sent my brother to leave this note for you. I'm not feeling so good. We need to talk. Come by my house later today! ~Alfred Jones


"Hey Dad, do we have any soup?"

Without moving from the television he answered "in the cabinet."

Arthur opened the top cabinets to see at least ten red Campbells chicken noodle soup cans.

Dylan asked "why do you need soup, anyways?"

He locked his arms around three soup cans. He sneered "why do you care?"

"Please don't say that's our dinner."

Arthur rolled his eyes and ignored Dylan's comment. He pulled out a can opener from the utensils drawer. It was half rusted, almost broken, and still had pieces of ravioli meat on it. Just like everything in this house: dirty. Arthur shuddered. "When was the last time someone cleaned around here?"

Dylan shrugged. "Sorry we're not neat freaks like you and mom. Anyways, why are you making the soup?"

Arthur ran the can opened under warm water. "You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Dylan narrowed his eyes. "What I wouldn't believe is if you were entering a cooking competition. Now tell me why you're making soup!"

Arthur sighed and filled one of the large pots with water and placed it on the stove. "I've became a much better cook, by the way."

"I doubt it," he muttered under his breath. "You still didn't answer why you're making so much soup!"

"Okay, okay, one of my friends is sick and I'm bringing it over. Happy?"

"Oooh, is it one of those hot model UN girls? Is it Michelle? Come on, tell me her name."

Arthur sighed. "Alfred."

Dylan laughed in disbelief. "Alfred? Alfred Jones? You're bringing soup to your friend Alfred Jones?"

Arthur nodded and poured the cans of soup into the pot. "See I told you! I knew you wouldn't believe me."

"It's just…you and Alfred?" He snorted. "Ha! I think you need to check your fucking calendar it's not April Fools."

Arthur lunged for Dylan's throat. "You bloody git!"

"Arthur, come on. Now tell me who it's really for."

"Alfred."

Dylan stared blankly. "Are you fucking serious?"

"Serious."

"Seriously?"

"I'm bloody serious!"

"Okay whatever" Dylan added propping his feet up on the grimy kitchen table.

"Fine, if you don't believe me, drive me there." He continued to mix the soup with a wooden spoon.

"Drive you? You're seventeen, drive yourself," he sneered.

"I can't drive in America!"

"Touché," Dylan remarked.

"So will you drive me?"

"Whatever, but you might not wanna over cook that soup. It smells like something's burning in here."

"Shit," Arthur cussed. He quickly turned down the heat and moved the pot onto one of the off stovetops.

Dylan laughed. "Yup, you've gotten a lot better."

Arthur curled his lip.


The car ride was mostly quiet. At every red light, Dylan would take out his phone and text, yet another, one of his friends. Arthur sat with his hands tied around a large bowl of soup, careful not to let it spill onto Dylan's rundown car. The car smelled like Dylan stole it from a junkyard, and filled it with dead rodents and half eaten hamburgers.

Dylan broke the silence. "This might sound like a weird question, but how did you become friends with Alfred?"

Arthur shrugged. "Just kinda happened."

He raised an eyebrow. "Like magic?"

"I did not put a spell on him if that's what you're suggesting," Arthur pouted and leaned upon the passenger door. Arthur was skilled in the "art" of magic, but not enough to make someone like him. He watched as the houses became larger, and cleaner as they crossed the railroad tracks.

"I wasn't suggesting that," he defended. It just, kinda seems weird. He turned right into a large, circular driveway. At the end of the driveway was a large, two story white house. Arthur gaped at the sight of it. It almost looked like a miniature white house.

Arthur gawked in disbelief "this is his house?"

Dylan nodded. "He's fucking rich, Arthur. Don't screw this up."

Arthur opened the passenger door and looked up at the house and sighed. Sure, his house in London was quite large, but not like this. He walked up the stone staircase to the large, white door. He rang the doorbell with his free hand.

The door opened immediately, practically startling him. "Hello?" His voice was soft, almost a whisper. Must've been really sick…

"Alfred, uh, yeah, I heard you were sick, so I brought you soup…"

He giggled. "Oh, you must be Arthur. No, I'm his brother, Matthew. Please, come inside." He opened the glass door and allowed him to enter. The main room was beautiful. Almost unreal. The walls were painted white with a large, spiral staircase in the middle of the room. A large, white piano stood in the middle of the room. Above the piano was a crystal chandelier that probably cost more than his house.

"Alfred's room is up the steps." Matthew pointed to a wide hallway. "It's the last room on the right."

Arthur smiled. "Thanks." He stepped up each stair regally making sure not to drop his soup. Dylan was right, they are bloody rich.

He reached the last door in the hallway to see the large door was sealed. He knocked twice.

"Come in, Matt!"

Arthur hesitated before twisting the knob to the room open. "Sorry, I'm not Matt." Alfred's room was probably larger than his current house.

Alfred ripped his blankets off from him and stood up. "It's you! You came!"

"I brought soup," Arthur notified. He combed his hands through his hair. "Although, it's probably cold and burned. I don't know! I heard you're sick, but you look fine now…"

"Artie," he began. Arthur knew this tone of voice. It was the tone of voice in a movie when the lead male is breaking up with the lead girl. "I'm not sick."

Arthur looked down at his bowl. "And now you never want to see me again…I get it."

His eyes widened. "Artie, what gave you that notion?"

He bit his lip.

"Artie, when I got home from eating pizza with you, I felt something I had never felt before. My mom said it was because I ate too much pizza, but I know it wasn't. She made me stay home thinking that I was sick, but I'm not sick." He looked into Arthur's green eyes. "I like you."

Arthur's reaction was almost my impulse. "I like you too."

He caressed Arthur's face. "No. Arthur, I love you."

To Be Continued...


1. Referring to Seychelles

Author's notes: Hello everybody! I have made the un-thrilling thrilling! It was almost impossible, but I made it possible. So does Arthur love Alfred back? Is Alfred really just under a magical spell? Hm...all these choices which one should I choose? I hope it wasn't too obvious. have to see how it unfolds in the next chapter!