Lol, I saw this Sonic commercial (the food place) with a British guy talking and it was so freaking funny because of the way he was talking :D I loled right after it. Ha, ha, hm…I'm tired. But I shouldn't complain. Enjoy :)

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Arthur stared back at his own photo on a fake I.D. Francis had managed to make him. His photographed self stared just as blankly back at him, though with a deeper frown. Seriously, how did Francis manage to get a hold of these again? Maybe it was that Ludwig guy who was addicted to German beer.

Francis snickered. "Well? What do you think?" Arthur glared back at him, not knowing what to say. He didn't want to be happy, but then again, he didn't want to be ungrateful since this thing could come in handy sometime in the future. But at the current moment, Arthur saw no reason to have a fake identification card. He flipped it over, briefly staring at the back before turning it back over to stare at his picture.

"I'm not sure if I should thank, or shoot you," Arthur mulled, stuffing the piece of plastic into his pocket, not having his wallet on him at the current moment. Francis grinned and clapped his younger friend on the shoulder.

"Come now, I know a great place, we can go tonight," Francis suggested. Arthur reluctantly agreed to go too. His dad was showing signs that he'd be drinking any time soon, so why not he do it? He'd never consumed alcohol before, but he couldn't say that he wasn't curious. "Well figure out if you're a happy, sad, angry or talkative drunk," Francis added. Scowling, Arthur tapped his fingers against the I.D. that rest in his pocket before deciding that he should give punching Francis another try.

The other simply guffawed and ran off with the Englishman hot on his heels, Francis wailing about Arthur having strange mood swings, but laughing none the less.

Unfortunately, they ended outside of a bar anyways that night. Francis had his hands on his hips in a rather proud way, giving that the damn place was French if it were possible. Arthur dreaded entering, but didn't complain. He had nothing better to do other than try to keep his father from drinking too much. But then again, that was no fun. Francis had promised to keep Arthur from doing anything stupid and Arthur knew the guy well enough to know that he was just going to encourage it.

"I'm really reconsidering my life now," Arthur grumbled moodily as Francis finally pulled him into the place.

"Don't worry mon amour, you might just end up thanking moi for this!" Francis barked happily, tossing the shaggy haired blond into a stool before plopping into one himself, ordering something light for the both of them. Arthur leaned forward and rested his forehead against the counter top, grumbling sourly to himself as Francis obliviously whistled La Marseillaise, or, the French national anthem, to himself.

When their drinks finally arrived about a minute later, the two started swigging, Arthur flinching at the taste, having to force it down. At least he was starting to feel a tad better right? So before he knew it, Arthur had already gotten himself a second mug of alcohol, Francis not even halfway done giving that he'll be the one driving home of course.

The French guy was talking, but all Arthur could conclude was that it was likely in Chinese or Korean, for he didn't understand a single word the wavy haired blond said. Maybe it was in French, yeah, that sounded correct.

Matthew happily whistled a tune to himself as he strolled to Alfred's house, knowing that the other was walking Liberty and that he'd have to make dinner for the American. Briskly making his way through the front yard, Matthew extracted the spare key Alfred had loaned him and unlocked the door, pushing it open with his knee. Turning on a few lights so he could see better, Matthew headed immediately for the kitchen. He was about to take out a pot and start on a Cuban dish his Cuban friend had taught him until his phone began vibrating in his pocket. A bit confused at who'd be texting him at this time, Matthew pulled it out a smiled at the name. Unfortunately, his light happiness was killed, being replaced with full blown confusion at what had been texted to him.

[Arthur]

got yms oer here, comm, il odr yoo 1

Tilting his head in confusion, Matthew typed in his reply, though he couldn't help but giggle. Arthur had been yelling at Alfred about his horrible texting grammar Friday and now he turns around and does just as horribly, or worse than his American cousin. Still chuckling, Matthew hit the send and awaited a reply.

[Matthew]

Are you okay Arthur?

[Arthur]

dandi;; hy i got some daysis here u want some?1ar59

Matthew had to slap his hand over his mouth to keep himself from laughing like a psychotic person. Didn't want Alfred to walk in on that now do we? Well, actually, Matthew wished that Alfred was there to see this, it was hysterical.

[Arthur]

And i gtt sm Frencch wyn.,

[Arthur]

yoo bastard, wahh you doing with Als fone?

Matthew now found it funny how Arthur's proper grammar would slip in and out of the texts. But he wondered if the other even knew he was texting Alfred with how mentally unstable he sounded through the text messages he was sending. A small amount of worry nipped at the back of his mind, but Matthew ignored it, telling himself that he'd take action when it got serious.

[Arthur]

Will you be my friend? M lonely n dm Frachis not mi friend., He just lkes me 44 the sx;

[Matthew]

Are you okay Arthur?

[Arthur]

Y U NO LKE ME?:

Okay, now this was serious right? The guy sounded depressed and mentally ill. Maybe Matthew would have to drive over with Alfred and try to cheer Arthur up, giving that Alfred seemed to be the master at that. If it were a professional job, Matthew would sign his American cousin up for the job—he'd be a natural.

[Matthew]

Arthur, please calm down and think about what you're saying. I'm not sure about what's up with you, but you don't sound good. Should I come over?

[Arthur]

Wat? Come on oer, ill toor yoo anad show you dat Big Ben..

[Matthew]

Arthur this isn't funny anymore. You're clearly delusional, probably depressed and mentally unstable. I'm coming over.

[Arthur]

dont swim)

Matthew snapped his cellular shut and immediately left. Screw bringing Alfred along, there was something seriously wrong with Arthur. The guy was drunk, but Matthew didn't know that.

Almost literally jumping into his car, Matthew shoved the keys into the ignition and drove off, the tires to his car screeching on the pavement below. He tried his best to stay under the speed limit, but damn he was worried. If Arthur had hit his head or something in his brain had snapped, Matthew really would regret not taking Alfred along.

Driving up to the apartment which Francis had shown him one day, Matthew stepped out hastily and made his way inside. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, climbing five stories before finally making it to Arthur's small apartment home that housed the Brit and his father. Matthew then remembered when Francis told him that his dad was an angry alcoholic, which caused him to be hesitant on knocking on the door. But he did so anyways, worry dominating politeness of leaving an angry drunk alone.

When he didn't get an answer, Matthew was about to lean on the door to think. When he did so though, it was as if he had fallen right through it, though the door had truthfully never been completely shut in the first place. Rubbing his shoulder and then the side of his head, Matthew sat up before standing erect, searching the small area for a shaggy blond with large eyebrows. He found a ton of beer bottles littering the floor, though he concluded that it was Arthur's father's beers.

He was in full panic mode when he didn't find Arthur in the apartment building. Was he somewhere else without even knowing it giving that the guy sounded delusional? Had he been kidnapped? Not likely, but whatever! Matthew took a few deep breaths before shakily extracting his cellular. He had never called the police.

"Hello, Minneapolis police department, how may I help you?"

"U-uh…I think I have a delusional, depressed and mentally ill friend missing," Matthew's voice was barely above a whisper. The person who had answered the phone immediately asked for his address and Matthew took a moment to figure out how to give an address of the apartment building.

After the call, Matthew hung up and slumped into the couch behind him, willing his heartbeat to slow down. He barely even knew Arthur, how would Alfred react? And literally, about a minute later, a large amount of police officers had arrived. Matthew answered as many questions as he could, hoping that he wouldn't have to ring up Alfred.

"Cher Dieu, qu'est-ce? Matthieu what is all this?" whipping around at the sudden sound of Francis's voice, Matthew was mortified to find the Frenchman with a either sleeping or passed out Arthur being carried on him piggy back style. Matthew blinked once, twice and three times before he bolted, apologizing to Francis and all of the officials. After a moment of silence, Francis laughed awkwardly at all of the policemen that were staring at him and Arthur. "Eh-heh, histoire drôle…"

Matthew slammed the door to Alfred's house shut and headed immediately for the guest room, slamming that door shut as well, holing himself in. About ten minutes later, Alfred and Liberty returned, Alfred immediately sending Liberty into the living room to sleep before letting out a large yawn himself. Why had he walked her so late at night again? Probably just a fresh air thing…nah, more like frigid air.

Alfred was slightly disappointed when he didn't find any dinner ready. Matthew had promised to make him dinner that night, had his Canadian cousin forgotten his duty, err…offer? Whatever.

"Mattie? You here?" Alfred called out, climbing up the steps to the second floor to his home. "Mattie?" Alfred knocked on the door to the guest room which was currently locked. Tilting his head in slight confusion, Alfred knocked once more, calling out Matthew's name again.

"Yes Alfred?"

"Whoa, dude you okay? You sound kinda depressed in there," Alfred became concerned at the utterly defeated tone Matthew's voice took on. He waited for a response which took quite some time for it to finally come out.

"I'm fine Alfred," Matthew opened the door. He looked fine except for that slightly red tint on his cheeks. "Come on, let's go make some dinner," Matthew redirected the subject, hoping that he could just forget this day. Alfred luckily agreed to that enthusiastically, asking what they'd be making for dinner. "We'll be making a Cuban dish my friend taught me."

"That Cuban guy? Dude, no offense, but I don't really like him…" Alfred's voice dropped to a quiet volume as if they were gossiping right in front of the person being told about. Matthew frowned at what Alfred had told him.

"You don't like a lot of my friends," true. That was true. Alfred didn't exactly get along with any of Matthew's non-hockey friends. Ivan was one example. For some reason, Matthew had managed to befriend Ivan and the Russian kid would always pick verbal fights with Alfred, who would always take it as a challenge. Another was that Gilbert guy, Ludwig's older brother. The guy had just finished college and was working at a café Matthew visited often. When Matthew had introduced Alfred to the silver haired German, the two begun arguing right off of the bat.

"Err…sorry, just…I…sorry," Alfred didn't exactly know what to say to Matthew. He couldn't just tell him to ditch them all and become friends with his circle of friends, Matthew should be able to have whatever friends he wanted. Still, they were kind of a bad influence on him. Damn, he was sounding like a parent wasn't he? "Come on, let's get this baby cookin'! I'm so hungry!" Alfred grinned at Matthew in an attempt to get the other to cheer up at the mention of food. Matthew simply smiled and began extracting whatever supplies they needed for their dinner making.

During dinner, Matthew and Alfred were completely silent, Alfred having texted Arthur about ten minutes ago, still awaiting a reply. But it wasn't anything to be concerned about. Tomorrow was Monday anyways and they were having dinner at ten 'o' clock at night. It definitely was late for a school night.

XXX

Ouch. What the bloody hell? Arthur opened his eyes wearily and immediately had to shut them at how bright it was outside. Plus his head was pounding so bad he thought he'd end up dying if he didn't get rid of it soon. Groaning in pain, Arthur rolled over only to roll off of the couch.

Francis grinned to himself from the kitchen when he heard a thump and some sleepy, yet irritated complaints come from a hung over Brit in the next room over. The poor guy would die in school, that's all Francis could say. He couldn't wait to tell the perfect record teen that he was three hours late for school, but he'd have to let the guy puke out his guts first.

"Francis you bloody frog, I know you're here. What the hell happened last night? You better not have snogged me," Arthur growled as he entered the kitchen, a murderous gleam shining in his green eyes. Francis's grin only widened and he threw his arm around the other's shoulder, making sure that he talked as loud as he could without it being considered yelling.

"Good morning Angleterre! It's called a hangover mon amour."

"Stop calling me that," Arthur grumbled, pushing the Frenchman off and away from him.

"Which one?" Francis crossed his arms. His grin returned when the Brit blinked and then raced off to the toilet to vomit some more. He waited patiently for the other to return, Arthur having forgotten what Francis had just asked him mere seconds ago.

"Be useful for once and tell me what day it is," Arthur demanded, slumping into a chair and resting his head against the small dining table that was far from clean. Francis grinned, tapped his foot a few times and itched at his cheek before actually answering.

"Monday mon amour. You're three hours late for school," and within the time it takes for one to blink an eye, Arthur had left the building, forgetting to brush his teeth and put new clothes on. Chuckling to himself, Francis sat down at the dining table and poured himself some milk, not in the mood for any wine at the moment. Poor guy was probably going to die at school.

Arthur had ran all the way to school, flashing his school I.D. in order to gain entrance and heading straight for the main office. He was definitely going to be penalized for this, but he could still hope could he?

When he arrived at the front desk, he was basically reduced to a panting teen whose breath smelt of stomach acid and the faint scent of alcohol. The receptionist simply raised an eyebrow at him before asking for his school I.D. and the reason he was late. Since Arthur had no good reason, he simply said that he had slept in. The lady looked skeptical, but gave him a late pass anyways, excusing him to his fourth period class. He might as well just skip—

Bad thoughts Arthur, go to class. He scolded himself for even considering skipping class even if there was only ten minutes left of it. He was obviously going to be laughed at for how he smelt and looked, he just hoped that he didn't have any bags under his eyes. He felt like he hadn't slept at all.

Entering the class with great hesitation, Arthur slunk over to his angry looking teacher and sat himself in his desk, sinking into his seat in an attempt to just disappear into thin air. He felt horrible, and he hoped that he didn't get the urge to throw up again during school. Lunch didn't sound very appealing at the moment, which only made him even more queasy.

Arthur was about to fall asleep when the bell rang, jolting him out of his weary state. Standing up abruptly, he hastily prepared to leave, wanting to get away from Lovino and his teacher's accusing stares. It was scary, really.

Heading out the door and to the lunch room, Arthur didn't even get in line to get some food, obviously not in the mood to eat anything. He was horribly thirsty though, that was the only thing that sounded appealing at the moment…and maybe one of Alfred's hugs, but that was something completely off topic.

Turning slightly red at his thought patterns, Arthur just decided that he should shrivel up and die right on the spot. Well, that was until he heard someone seat themselves across from him. Looking, up, Arthur's spirits were lifted just a millimeter at the sight of the grinning American. Arthur wanted to smile back, but kept himself from doing so.

"Hey Artie! Wow, what did'ya do last night? You look like shit!" Alfred laughed after that, making Arthur wonder why he even tolerated this git. Sighing, he mumbled something incoherent that Alfred didn't catch because of all of the other voices surrounding them. "Dude, you okay?" now he sounded genuinely concerned. "I—if you need anything I'd be happy to help, you don't look so hot…" Alfred blushed slightly at what he had said, but didn't try to redirect it.

"A hug would be nice," was Arthur's answer. The Brit immediately froze at what he had automatically said. He was originally going to say water, but something else beat his original intentions to the punch. "Ah…sorry ab—" Arthur was cut off when Alfred had pulled the other into a hug that didn't crush the bone. More like the one that he had received in the attic. Too tired to argue (and secretly enjoying it) Arthur leaned into Alfred, closing his eyes and willing the rest of the world away. He was immediately pulled back to reality when the huge urge to vomit overcame him.

He tore out of Alfred's embrace and raced off, leaving the American utterly confused and partially alone at the lunch table.

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Cher Dieu, qu'est-ce? – Dear God, what is this?

Histoire drôile – Funny story

Ah, hah, sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes (other than Artie's text messages :D), didn't proof read this chapter and I'm dead tired here. So I don't exactly have much to say other than hope you liked it and please review 'cause I need your feedback :) Peace out my friends.