Hey hey people I'm back with a cliffhanger! Enjoy!

Review:

alguien22792: Oh yeah Alfred's pretty inconsiderate of Arthur. I mean I see it from both points too. Theses definitely the gaps and unanswered questions from Alfred, but they this all they know. They were raised and taught and its something so prominent in their society, like learning to drive a car in our world. I imagine getting rejected by your one true love kind of sucks though. Why must I rant so much? Thanks for reviewing!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Alfred made it home without incident. Since he had practically ran from the school campus and it was a Friday night, he beat Matthew home too. At least he didn't have to awkwardly walk past them in the living room, or starve for an hour while they claimed the kitchen.

The American climbed the stairs to his room, abandoning his book sack on the floor and plopped on his starred comforter, messily covering his bed. The house was silent, so was he. Alfred rolled over after a few minutes of still recovery, and finally took his phone out.

The screen light seemed brighter with the added pigment, the case a brighter shade of whatever color it was. Perhaps it was time for him to actually put some names with these colors.

Alfred searched for color. Images flooded the screen, names and shades and hues. He found a chart, listing them all, a few shades next to each word.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple. They sounded like names of distant relatives, he knew them, but couldn't place them. He used his chart to assign names to the things he saw.

His bed covers were blue, with white stars. The sky was blue, and so was the book sitting on his desk. The dirty sneakers in the corner were a mix of blue, green, brown and white. The shelves were brown, his pants, the box. The tree outside his window was brown, green spotted leaves shading the green grass beneath it. The leaves had spots of orange and red, a sign of the coming cold.

His pillow was red. So were his glasses, another book, a poster on the wall. His sweatshirt was red, and a cleaner pair of sneakers was another shade of red. His bookshelf was a rainbow, and the closet was an assortment of shades of everything. Alfred stood, sure he had classified everything, every item had a color, every color had a name.

The American entered the bathroom, to classify himself. He had caught his colored reflection before, but this was different. After seventeen years of black and white reflections, yellow hair and blue eyes was odd. He was so used to the grey. It looked wrong somehow. He clarified that his hair was supposedly blond, rather than yellow, and his eyes blue, just like the sky. The glasses were crimson, and his skin tan. He almost didn't seem right this way. It didn't seem like him staring back in that mirror.

Arthur had green eyes. Alfred couldn't force away that small fact.

Matthew got home ten minutes after that, stayed long enough for their parents to come home, only to leave, saying he was going to Gilbert's. He said nothing to Alfred, and Alfred said nothing in return. He sat with his parents for dinner.

Alfred did not say he knew the table was brown. He didn't say he knew the plates were white and the walls were beige and the floors were brown. He didn't tell that his parents were both blond, his mother's eyes were purple, or his father's were blue. They didn't need to know.

Alfred stayed in his room, not doing much of anything inside. He tried to distract himself by doing his homework, or cleaning up the discarded clothes, but nothing could really distract him. He still had to face Arthur somehow, unless he could convince his parents to move far away between now and Monday. There was nothing Alfred could really say. He didn't want a soulmate, and that hadn't changed now that he had found his supposed soulmate. Arthur didn't change the last seventeen years. Nothing did. Nothing could.

The color was much more of a distraction, along with the idea of speaking to Arthur. A bright green t-shirt in the corner was more obvious than a grey one. Alfred sighed, rolling onto his back, abandoning the math book. He wasn't getting anything done anyway. Arthur plagued his thoughts. A symptom of finding your soulmate, all you could think of was them. All Alfred wanted to do was forget him.

There was a knock at his door. "Alfred?" His mother asked.

"What?"

"Your friend's here, he said you forgot a book at school." Probably Kiku, although it was weird his mother didn't address him by name. Kiku was often at his house.

"Okay. I'm coming." Alfred jumped up and left his room, walking to the living room. Kiku was not there.

His mother was sat on the couch with Arthur. She was happily talking, she was a talker. They both glanced up at him. His hair blond, lighter than Alfred's own. Those green, green eyes full of too much emotion and failing to hide it. Something else flickered in his eyes, but he immediately dismissed it. The Brit stood, and offered a textbook to him. European History. Alfred didn't take European History.

"Can we talk?" Said those eyes. Please.