Chapter Seven.

"Alfred! It's time to get up" The muffled voice from behind the heavy oak door startled Alfred into consciousness, but when his eyes flicked open he only saw darkness. In the haze of sleep, his groggy mind panicked at this sudden state of blindness and he instinctively reached up to his face- only to have his hands come into contact with a hard, fabric surface.

Last nights' antics returned to him, and he sighed, carefully removing the book from his face and rubbing his sleep-deprived eyes.

Oh shit. Alfred's eyes snapped open at the sudden realisation that turned his stomach upside down.

He had school.

A rapid series of knocks on the door told the American that he would have to prove his consciousness if he was to be left alone.

"I'm up!" he shouted croakily, flicking the bedcovers off himself.

"Good, breakfast is in five minutes so get dressed quickly" Fleta's voice sounded a little strained, and Alfred guessed that she was probably having some trouble getting her large family up in time.

Hurriedly, Alfred set about pulling on the school uniform, hung beside the door, shivering as he left the warm sanctuary of his bed. Apart from the slightly oversized blazer, the whole thing fit pretty well, and the only trouble Alfred had was when it came to doing up his tie (a feat which he shamefully admitted he'd actually never achieved). After a couple of tries, the American huffed in annoyance and just left the necktie hanging round his neck. Scanning the room for anything he might need, Alfred noticed the book he'd been reading the night before, left forgotten on his crumpled bedsheets.

Alfred quickly seized and hid it in his bedside table; it felt a little stupid to stash something so mundane, but he didn't want to get scolded for meddling with what might be private. Besides, he wanted to continue reading it later.

Breakfast was a chaotic, to say the least:

Allistair was practically passed out on the table, moving only to open his mouth and half-heartedly gnaw the piece of toast which he held loosely in his hand. The twins were arguing over a milk spillage on the floor, Fleta hovering behind them, ready to intercept if things got out of hand; William was trying (and failing) to help Peter eat his cereal- the young boy was intent on being as awkward as possible in a futile attempt to be late for school…

The only calm person in the kitchen appeared to be Arthur, who sat at the far end, nose in a large book as he ate a bowl of porridge. Alfred grabbed a bowl and spoon and took the seat between the comatose Allistair and the oblivious blonde. Neither noticed the American sit down, and for a while harmony reined at the one end of the table, the only sounds audible being the clink of spoons against their ceramic counterparts and the ritualistic crunching of cereal.

A loud cursing from the other end of the table finally burst the peaceful bubble that Alfred had been relishing; Alannah had clearly been designated to clear up the milk on the wooden floor, but after some smug words from her twin (Alfred was sure his name was Ossian), she'd stamped on his foot. Hard.

Alfred didn't pay much attention to what happened next, for he was distracted by a sharp intake of breath beside him.

It was at that point that the blonde's sleep-addled mind finally told him that he was sat next to Arthur. The very same Arthur who was making it painfully obvious that he wanted to avoid Alfred at all costs. Alfred sheepishly turned his head to the younger blonde, and was surprised when met with two forest green eyes staring right back at him. The moment was cut short as Arthur tore his gaze away almost as if he'd been scolded, pulling down his neck and lifting his shoulders protectively. Alfred felt guilty, but he couldn't quite place why; after all, he had no idea what he'd done to upset the Kirkland boy to such an extent…

So instead he tried to expel the leaden atmosphere with a bright and cheery attitude;

"Hey Arthur! Did you sleep well? I hope college is good! Will you show me around?" The words were supposed to sound jolly, but they seemed instead to stick together awkwardly, filling the air between the two boys with a heavy feeling of false amity.

Arthur flicked his eyes up briefly before returning them to scrutinise the tablecloth. After what felt like an eternity, he nodded and let out a sound that might've been a 'hmm'. Alfred wanted to press him for more than this rather vague answer, but despite his growing frustration he knew that there wasn't time to question Arthur now.

Sighing, he raised himself from the table to place his dirty crockery in the sink, completely oblivious to the familiar green eyes boring into his back as he left the bustling room.

Right guys, the next chapter is gonna take a while, because a) I've got severe writer's block, and b) my track record for finishing stories is TERRIBLE. Anyway, I hope I'll be able to write a new chapter soon for you guys! If you have any suggestions please don't hesistate to tell me (new ideas wooh!). :)