A/N: Early update... don't know why I'm doing this tbh. I have a bunch of already written chapters (seven, to be exact). I write a chapter usually weekly, and for how short they are ( sorry), that's a pretty slow schedule. Also, I changed the story image. Might change back, I dunno. Well, enough chatter.

Enjoy~

Chapter 4: You Have an Hour to Get Your Hand Out of My Pants

Alfred is my worst enemy.

He is a prep, surely the star of whatever sport he committed himself to. He sits at the middle seat of the figurative high school table I'm referencing to describe his relevance and popularity, surrounded by wonderful people and beautiful women, namely Charisma, Comedy, and Cunning. He's a saint, no doubt about it, attending church every Sunday morning and Wednesday evening. He signed a certificate, swearing to save himself for marriage, which will probably be arranged by his undoubtedly rich parents. Neither his cheek nor his jaw have ever felt the agony of raw knuckles. His wavy blond hair is a symbol of his closed minded status, while his blue eyes are clear indications that his glasses struggle to help him see the world in more than one way.

And yet, here Alfred is, standing just outside the frame of my door, right next to my other worst enemy.

You see, I was never a prep. I was the star of the literature club. I sat on the ground, under a tree, surrounded by my good friends Isolation, Insecurity, and Despair. I avoided church like the plague. I signed a certificate, swearing to save myself from marriage. My knuckles have been worn at and broken, and my face has borne scars and bruises that would make a kick boxer wince. My silver hair represents my outcast mannerism, while my violet eyes tell tales that would make such good boys like Alfred turn tail and flee.

We are nothing alike, I thought to myself, as I looked over Alfred. I gave him a stare similar to the one I was given those many years ago: 'You, boy, ain't gonna last a day here.'

"Him? Really, HIM?" I turned to Gilbert, scowling. I could feel the injustice pour off of Alfred, and I smirked as I realized that Mr. Football had a massive ego. Well, Alfred thought, yeah, ME! Who else could you ever want, you ignorant drug selling heathen?!

"Yeah!" Gilbert snorted. "HIM. Get over it, Commie, you asked and I provided."

I rolled my eyes, taking my forehead in my hand to display my disappointment for all to see. "I figured you would bring me a smooth jazz stoner for a roommate. Not a... That. Your name is Alfredo?" I remembered Gilbert's odd introduction, laughing to myself as Alfredo puffed up to defend himself.
"No, it's not! It's Alfred. I'm not a noodle."

"Oh," Gilbert leaned against Alfred. "You're a noodle all right."

Alfred nearly shoved Gilbert into the door frame, his only saving grace being my hand preventing him from denting it. My eyebrows shot up. "Oh, this puppy's got some fight to him."

Gilbert silently snarled at me for laying a hand on his pristine body, then backed up, returning to his typical composure. "Sure does."

"... Yeah." Alfred muttered, then shoved past me. He dragged a wheeled suitcase behind him, constructed from faux leather that looked fairly nice.

I watched him go, suddenly hoping that he would get gang banged within the next few weeks for disrespecting my space like that. "I'm going to ring his neck if he keeps this up." I said to Gilbert, toning down my threat level.

Gilbert suddenly got very close to me, jerking me down by my collar so that we were eye to eye. "You hurt him, Ivan, and I swear to god you'll find yourself dead in a ditch the next day."

I played a small scene in my head, in which Veña and I systematically suplexing all of these intruding stupidos. "Gilbert, I don't think you're quite the man to be making those threats to someone almost twice your size."

Gilbert didn't miss a beat. "Ivan, listen up. I'm not making threats. I'm giving you fair warning."

Right as I was about to inquire exactly what his vague words meant, the Nazi went on. "Alfred is gonna stick with you for a few months, okay? He'll be outta your hair before you know it, I'm sure you won't even know he's there half the time anyway."

Gilbert let go of my collar, and I nodded, straightening up. "Gilbert, two things."

"What?"

"First thing: I'll will glad break your hand if you do that to me again."

Gilbert snorted, but nodded nonetheless.

"Second thing: why does the whole embodiment of Alfred seem like a bad idea?"

Sighing, Gilbert pushed past me just as Alfred had. "Mind your own fucking business, you damn Communist."

"This is my apartment, therefore it is my fucking business, you damn Jerry bastard!" I yelled after him, but to no avail. If Gilbert didn't want to talk, which was extraordinarily rare, then he didn't want to talk.

I found them both just a few feet within the main room, dead center of the floor. Alfred was frowning, which struck me as odd, almost hilarious. The frown disagreed with his face, it looked so out of place. It was as though someone had stapled someone else's bad mood onto his mouth.

Aside from the frowning, Alfred was also unpacking. I was shocked to find that nothing in his bag was classified as 'essential'. It was filled with things that I thought were for five year olds: comic books, action figures, coloring pads with their coloring pencils, and other things that clashed with my mature theme. I made a sound of disgust, and Gilbert cocked a brow. "To each, his own." He muttered.

After Alfred finished his silent unpacking before his audience of two, he stood, avoiding my eyes entirely. "Gilbert, come on. Let's go get the rest of my stuff." Alfred didn't wait for Gilbert, simply walking at a brisk pace right out my door. Gilbert watched him go, shook his head, then followed after.

I never heard any invitation to come with, but I assumed it was there, so I trailed behind the two. Alfred stuck to Gilbert's side once the Nazi caught up, giving me no chance of discreetly asking my numerous questions. So, I had only the indiscreet route left to travel. "Hey, Alfredo!" I yelled up the hall, seeing my target audience jump. "What's a prep like you doing here, knowing a dead beat like him?" Thrown my way were two scathingly devastating glares, which shut my mouth with a click of my teeth. Suddenly, I didn't feel like pissing either of them off anymore. Their vibe finally reached me, and it wasn't nearly as peachy as my own.

They were a good few feet ahead of me, walking in sync. I purposely hung back, knowing that while I could easily catch up to them and try to play nice, it would not be in my favor. I wasn't sure why, I just felt... Like perhaps, maybe I should give this time a chance.

Up the rickety old metal stairs we went, glad to have on shoes to protect our feet from the threat of tetanus. As I made it to the top of the flight, I caught Gilbert leaning over to whisper something to the noodle. Alfred seemed somewhat surprised, glanced back at me, then said something back to Gilbert. The Nazi shrugged, but I saw his disgusting grin. The very grin that signified his mischief.

We went on for a few more seconds, until Alfred turned to look at me, opening his mouth to say, "Uh, Ivan-"

I stopped dead in my tracks, cutting Alfred off without a word. My lips curled to form a sort of curdled smile. I stared at Gilbert's grey hoody back, ready to meet his eyes when he turned around a few seconds later. On cue, his sickening bright eyes came into view, as did his smile.

"I'm going to ring your pretty little neck, Gilbert." I said, giving the man fair warning. As soon as the words left my mouth, I was off. Gilbert wasn't slow to the draw, either, dashing as soon as I made my first step. It was clear that he was trying to be cool about this situation, but I could see the terror spread across his face just before he turned. Oh, he knew he had done it this time.

My chase was more of a gradual stalk, I would imagine that one would compare it to how the velociraptors from Jurassic park hunt. They use their environment and intelligence, waiting til the moment was right to use their full energy.

On the other hand, Gilbert was more of a Gallimimus from the same movie: not taking the time to wait until the moment was right to run. As far as he was concerned, it was the right moment, to which I readily agreed.

Alfred watched us with eyes I would compare to the Icthyosaur's, an ancient marine reptile with dinner plate corneas. Gilbert, just ahead of my long legged stride, latched onto his door, jiggling the handle. I heard him curse with a passion; he had been locked out. The environment was playing into my favor, I grinned deviously. Today would be the day. Gilbert began to pound on the door. "ELIZA!" He yelled, panicked. He was glancing at me every so often, growing more frantic as I increased my pace. "OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR! HURRY, OPEN THE DOOR GOD DAMMIT!"

Right as I was rearing back to sink my fist in Gilbert's skull, the door flung inwards, the Nazi toppling back into the opening. He seemed relieved, having escaped his demise, but soon he was cursing again. A frying pan was slammed over the top of his cranium, and I giggled. "Shut up, ya loudmouth numbskull!" Eliza hissed. Surely, after such a whack, Gilbert was numbskulled. Looking up a me, she dropped her weapon (back onto Gilbert's head, might I add). "What did he do this time?" She asked, leaning against the doorframe as Gilbert dragged himself off to lick his wounds.

"Oh," I sweetly tilted my head, loving the attention Eliza gave me. "He purposely told my new room mate how to incorrectly pronounce my name, as though it were correct."

The brunette woman nodded, not having to reply to communicate her sympathy. She retrieved her pan, placing it in its rightful spot in the kitchen. I followed her, catching a glimpse of Alfred wordlessly following in after me. I could see him trying not to laugh, which pleased me. The more people that took pleasure in Gilbert's pain, the better.

I assumed that Alfredo had gone to collect whatever other things he had, while I stayed in the kitchen with Eliza.

"Yeah," she continued to explain. "Gilbert has got to learn to keep his big mouth shut. You know the baby I've been watching lately? Yeah, he keeps on waking him up! For such a cute little thing, what with his curly hair, he sure has quote the pair of lungs." As if on cue, I heard screaming from another room, right as Alfred (or perhaps it was Gilbert) opened a door. I saw Eliza's eyes darken. As for me, I wondered how that had woken the baby up, and not all the yelling.

"Short nap?"

"Yes." She grit her teeth, and I could already see Gilbert getting another wallop later on. Elizaveta stormed out, and I browsed the various collection of magnets on her refrigerator. It pleases me, that the ethnicities are blending so well these days. The little thing that Eliza watches from time to time is an infant belonging to an elderly black couple, who have been given the task of caring for their grandson in place of their daughter. I don't know the full story, but I knew that Eliza was doing a good thing. Along with Gilbert, I suppose. Eliza had said that she was surprised by how well he was getting on when they baby-sat, aside from waking up the poor little thing.

Whilst looking over the pins, I noticed a few more eye catching ones. Magnets that were more interesting than the usual "Live. Laugh. Love." Or "Hakuna Matata." 's that I saw all too often. No, these were laminated circles featuring literal banana hammocks, dancing joints and their hemp leaf cousins, a bear brandishing a rocket launcher, and even one that read, "You Have an Hour to Get Your Hand Out of My Pants." That one was, by far, my favorite.
"She just got that one." Gilbert said.

I giggled. "She has excellent taste."

Alfred then appeared, halfway out the door by the time he said to me in an audaciously brave tone, "Come on, you communist manifesto fucker. Gilbert told me you like organizing."

If it were the last thing I ever did, I'd kill Gilbert.