FINALLY the next chapter! Sorry about the long wait . . . I've been busy with schoolwork, but now the semester's winding down (only 3 more weeks till summer! Huzzah!) I still feel pretty guilty, so I made sure this chapter was a decent length for you guys :D

Just to clarify, this is basically the chapter leading up to the birthday party (hence the "prelude" title). The birthday storyline will last for a few chapters ('cause it's REALLY important !) So this is kinda like the calm before the storm . . . only it's not really that calm XD

Now, thanks to all who reviewed: BwaBwaimagoat, ImaduckQuaQua, MeLaNch0LYdreams, Lydiacatfish, Deidara'sgirl19, xxalexisurgodxx, MataHari-Chan, Phamenia, Yuu-chi, Hungary, TheWonderBunny, IchigoMelon, and MimmiTheOtaku!

And to answer a few questions . . .

At: BwaBwaimagoat: There's going to be a little bit of a time skip, but not too much . . . so read on!

At Deidara'sgirl19: I usually watch the episodes on Funimation's Youtube channel. I think the season's come to a close though, hasn't it? *sobs* And yes, being in denial is very bad for Arthur's health!

At Lydiacatfish: Yep, the P-40 Warhawk is the Flying Tiger. I was just too lazy to add the "Flying Tiger" name in there XD And that story about the plane does sound like something Alfred would do! Kinda like the whole "paint Mt. Fuji red" thing! Alfred has the craziest ideas, but that's why we love him lol

At MataHari-Chan: Lol, don't worry, it's not a sin to ask for a filler chapter! I planned on including this chapter before diving into the birthday stuff anyway, so our thoughts are on the same page. And there's even texting involved too! :) I'm trying not to rush things in this story, and sometimes it even feels like I'm going a little too slowly . . . but I hope this chapter helps ease your fears!

Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya (not me!)

Enjoy!

Ch 10: Prelude

It was only day one without Alfred around, and the Jones's estate already seemed like an entirely different place. The halls were noticeably quieter, almost to the point of being eerie. Arthur thought the silence golden at first, but then it just started feeling strange. After all, he had gotten so used to having Alfred around, despite the man's annoying tendencies . . . Come to think of it, the previous few days of Arthur's life had been entirely ruled by Alfred: he'd gone wherever Alfred had wanted him to go, done whatever Alfred had asked of him, and even roomed in Alfred's mansion. But now that Alfred was suddenly gone, things just felt a bit . . . empty.

Of course, on the plus side, things were considerably more peaceful without the rowdy American around. It reminded Arthur of what his life had been like back in London, when he was living alone. Things had been so much more relaxing back then.

Of course, if that idiot were here, he'd accuse me of reminiscing like an old man, Arthur thought, grinning. But then he quickly caught himself and decided, no, I'm not going to let him distract me. I'm going to focus on work. I'm not even going to think about him.

Naturally, this task proved much easier said than done.

It was six o'clock on the second morning after Alfred's departure, and Arthur was enjoying a deep sleep. In fact, he was dreaming of sparkly, fluffy unicorns when he was violently awoken by the ringing of his cell phone. At first, his mind flashed back to the ringing of the fire alarm in his hotel room, and he toppled out of bed in a frenzied panic. But then, once his mind had regained its senses, he came to realize it was only his phone, and his emotion changed from one of panic to sheer vexation.

"This had better be a bloody emergency," he grumbled, scrambling to open his phone, "because if it isn't, I swear to God I'll—" But he was suddenly stricken silent, for as he flipped open his phone, he came face to face with a grinning photo of Alfred. Apparently, it had been programmed to pop up when Alfred called, but Arthur hadn't been the one to change the setting. That smug bastard had sabotaged it when he wasn't looking!

And so, with all the fury of Hell raging inside him, Arthur answered the phone.

"YOU BLOODY WANKER!" he roared into the speaker. "What the hell do you want?"

"Good morning to you too, Arthur!" Alfred replied, sounding rather amused. "Did you like my photo?" When Arthur responded with a string of unintelligible curses, Alfred only laughed. "Come on, I just wanted to make sure you'd know it was me calling."

"Who else would bother phoning me at six in the morning?"

"Six? Oh, that's right!" Alfred began, like he had suddenly remembered something. "I'm in Wisconsin, so I'm two hours ahead of you! It's 8 o'clock here right now, and I just got up. Sorry 'bout that!" He finished his sentence with some more obnoxious laughter, prompting Arthur to wonder how he could be so chipper this early in the morning. But then again, he had probably chugged a good bit of coffee before their conversation began. Not that he really needed the caffeine.

"Don't you have some sort of business to attend to, considering you're supposedly on a business trip at the moment?" Arthur grumbled.

"Hey, you don't have to be so grumpy," Alfred shot back. "I'm actually on my way to a business meeting now. I just thought I'd call and check in. Make sure you're still breathing without me around."

"Well, I haven't collapsed yet, if that's what you're wondering."

"Yeah, but it must be pretty boring without me!"

"Actually, the word you're looking for is peaceful."

"Yeah right! Say whatever you want, but I know you miss me."

Arthur felt the blood rush to his face as he remembered the night before Alfred left, when the two of them had gone horseback riding and Alfred had kissed his neck . . . it was an image he had tried hard to block out of his mind, but it kept coming back to the surface at times like these.

"I—I do not miss you!" Arthur stuttered, sounding about as unconvincing as possible. "And I resent the fact that you woke me up simply to make snide comments about—"

"Fine, fine, I won't call you next time," Alfred interrupted. "I'll just text you, okay? That way, you won't have to answer if you don't want to. Or you could always just turn off your phone if you're so concerned about your beauty sleep."

"Then maybe I will!" Arthur snapped, though it was an empty threat. Of course he wouldn't turn off his phone. He did miss Alfred, after all. If he didn't, he wouldn't have bothered answering the phone in the first place.

"Well, I gotta go now anyway," Alfred told him. "It's almost time for the meeting. Talk to you later!" Arthur only had time to respond with a quick good-bye before the call was ended. Alfred's grinning picture was gone from his phone's screen, and Arthur was suddenly left feeling very alone.

What's the matter with me? he wondered as he crept back into bed. He almost felt feverish, thinking about Alfred. His words kept ringing in his ear: "I know you miss me." And for some reason, Arthur couldn't get the memory of their horseback ride out of his mind. It kept playing over and over again like a broken reel, and Arthur was powerless to stop it. Guiltily, he held his phone in front of him, searching until he found the picture Alfred had loaded into it. And once he did, he couldn't take his eyes off of it. Because he wanted more of Alfred, but he was too scared to admit it. He wanted to feel Alfred's lips against his neck again, but he was too scared of the consequences. So instead, he closed himself off. Clamping his cell phone shut, he pulled the bedcovers over his head and held his unicorn plushie close, trying desperately to forget the world. And to him, that meant forgetting Alfred, because at the moment, it seemed Alfred was his world.

xxx

After sleeping in, Arthur rose a few hours later, hunger finally urging him out of bed. Still trying to keep his mind off of Alfred, he made his way toward the kitchen, aiming to whip up some of his "tasty" scones for breakfast. But when he reached the kitchen, he was surprised to find Matthew already there.

"Oh, I didn't realize you were here," Arthur began, "I'd forgotten that you—" He was going to say "I'd forgotten that you lived here," but considering how pathetic that sounded, he settled for, "I'd forgotten that you . . . might be preparing a meal at this time of day."

"Actually, I don't really cook that much, but I do enjoy making pancakes. Do you want some?" Matthew asked in his usual whispery voice, holding out a plate of round, golden-brown hotcakes. Arthur nodded and thanked him, taking a seat at the table. "Would you like some maple syrup with that?" Matthew went on, holding up the bottle. When Arthur agreed, Matthew began to drench the pancakes with syrup.

"Uh, I believe that's plenty," Arthur intervened, staring blankly at his smothered pancakes.

"Oh, sorry!" Matthew said, stopping. "I'm just so used to pouring this much for Alfred . . ."

"Yes, I can imagine he would insist upon drowning his pancakes with syrup."

Matthew nodded. "Usually, he also adds butter, powdered sugar, and whipped cream."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Arthur mumbled, though he inwardly wondered how Alfred could even taste the pancake anymore with so many toppings on it.

"So, did Alfred call you yet?" Matthew asked, causing Arthur to nearly choke on his food. Passing him a pitcher of juice, Matthew said, "I'll take that as a yes."

"How did you know?" Arthur asked.

"Because whenever he's away, he always calls me too—or he used to, before I started turning my phone off."

"I see. So you grew wise to his tricks then, eh?"

Matthew nodded. "Yeah, I've learned how to deal with him over the years. Not that it isn't still challenging . . ." He let out a rather strained laugh. "Sorry I didn't warn you he'd be calling."

"It's fine," Arthur insisted, not really eager to discuss the phone conversation. "By the way, this food's really excellent."

"Thanks," Matthew replied, though he had no intention of letting Arthur change the topic so easily. "So did he mention his birthday party to you yet?"

"Not extensively. Why?"

"I just thought I'd give you a heads up. He gets awfully excited about his party, and he likes to share his ideas with everyone he talks to. He already called me yesterday to ask if he thought we should have more fireworks than last year . . . and I suggested we shouldn't, since he did set one of our trees on fire back then. I don't think he was listening to me, though."

"Well, I s'ppose he's aiming to burn down the whole backyard this time," Arthur scoffed. "Just to make it more memorable."

"Maybe you're right," Matthew laughed. "He does take his birthday parties seriously."

"Will the entire thing be held here?"

"Yeah, he basically takes over the whole estate, including the house and backyard," Matthew answered, confirming Arthur's worst fears. "It goes on all day—sometimes all weekend too."

"I can imagine," Arthur said, although Matthew's facial expression seemed to suggest, No, I don't think you can.

"Anyway, he's still in the process of planning it out," Matthew continued. "So he'll probably be asking for your advice."

"And will he be planning on listening to any of that advice?"

"Probably not," Matthew said, smiling. "But it is his party, so he should do what he wants . . . of course, he always does what he wants anyway . . . only this time, he has an excuse for it."

"Brilliant," Arthur grumbled, already picturing a horrifying ordeal involving an entire house-ful of loud, overzealous Americans. And if Arthur knew Alfred at all, he knew he couldn't count on Alfred leaving him alone. He was sure Alfred would force him to actually participate in the mayhem, and he didn't look forward to the prospect of that at all.

But I'll worry about that when it comes, Arthur thought. After all, he hasn't even started asking me about—

At that moment, Arthur suddenly felt his phone vibrate, and he knew he had jinxed it. Sure enough, when he opened up the text message . . .

hey what flavor should my bday cake be?

"Well, it's begun," Arthur sighed. Matthew only smiled and offered him another round of pancakes.

xxx

Over the next couple of weeks, Arthur found himself bombarded with text messages regarding Alfred's ever-evolving birthday plans. From what Arthur could make out, the party was sure to be a monstrosity, but there was nothing he could do about it. There was no reasoning with Alfred, and Arthur wasn't even going to waste his breath trying. Of course, that didn't stop Alfred from asking Arthur's opinion. But as to whether he intended to listen to any of those responses . . . that was another matter entirely.

Thanks to Alfred's incessant phone messages, it became clear to Arthur that he wasn't going to get any peace during Alfred's absence. He had thought he might have some time to calm down and think things over rationally while Alfred was gone, but that turned out to be a complete sham. It was all he could do to get his work done with Alfred constantly pestering him; he even had to start shutting off his phone entirely during his business meetings with Mr. Worthington . . . yes, it was clear that Alfred had no intention of letting Arthur forget about him during their separation . . .

. . . And Arthur had no intention of letting Alfred know it was getting to him.

Zzzzzzzzzz. Arthur had just sat down to look over some stock reports when his phone had started vibrating yet again.

Let's see what he's on about this time.

hey i think i want 8 tiers 4 my cake

"Oh, not the bloody cake again," Arthur mumbled, clapping a hand to his forehead. A few days before, Alfred had sent over twenty texts debating what flavor the cake should be. In the end, he had decided to order a tiered cake in which each tier was a different flavor—that way, he wouldn't have to choose just one. So now it came time to decide just how many tiers that cake would be.

Zzzzzz. Another message. This one read: now i think i want 10 tiers And then, about five second afterward: no, how bout 13

Now Arthur had to reply. Urgently, he typed up, No! 13 is an unlucky number, you dolt! It took him a little while to type, considering he was determined to obey all the grammatical conventions of proper English. After all, Alfred's disgusting "texting" style English was a complete disgrace to the language. No true gentleman would be caught dead writing in such an atrocious style! But at last, Arthur finished typing and sent his message. He expected to receive a reply within the minute, but instead of vibrating, his phone started to ring.

"What are you ringing me up for now?" Arthur growled, holding the phone to his ear.

"This topic's too important for texting!" Alfred argued, as though it were a matter of life and death. "What's more important for a birthday party than the cake? I mean, except for the presents . . . say, Arthur, did you get me a present yet?"

"Oh, will you please try to stay on topic for once in your life?"

"So you haven't gotten me a present yet, have you?"

"I didn't say—"

"So you have gotten me one, then?"

"No, that's not what I—"

"Well, it'd better be something good. And not boring—like a book or something."

"I know better than to get a book for someone who's more or less illiterate," Arthur quipped. "And you know, after having to endure all of this pestering, you're the one who should be getting me a bleeding present!"

"Hmm." Alfred thought it over for a few seconds before finishing with, "I'll make sure you get a bigger piece of cake. How's that?"

"I don't want any of your grotesque cake," Arthur told him. "With all the food coloring going into that icing, I'd fear for my health."

"But it's the 4th of July! It has to have red, white, and blue icing!" Alfred argued. "And besides, at least my cake won't taste like hazardous waste. You should put a warning label on those scones you bake—like the labels they put on cans of aerosol."

"You damn hooligan, how dare you—!"

"I mean, if you can survive on those scones all the time, eating my cake should be . . . well, a piece of cake!" Alfred went on, laughing at his own joke. "So anyway, speaking of my cake, I still have to decide how many tiers to order . . ."

So now he decides to swerve back on track, Arthur thought, about ready to toss his phone out the nearest window. Right after he's annoyed me good and well, of course.

". . . So I was thinking I'd do 13 tiers," Alfred began, "You know, like the 13 original colonies! I mean, it's a 4th of July party too, so I thought it'd be perfect—"

"I told you, thirteen is an unlucky number," Arthur interrupted.

"Maybe for you, but not for me. My country won the war, after all!"

"Fine, then do as you please," Arthur growled. "See if I care whether your ridiculous cake is cursed or not. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

Alfred laughed. "You worry too much, Arthur! This party's going to be awesome! I mean, aren't you excited? Don't you like parties?"

"Apparently not as much as you do."

" . . ." Alfred paused for a few seconds. "But you're still going to be there, right?"

Arthur blinked. For the first time since their conversation had started, Alfred actually sounded like he cared about Arthur's response.

"I—well, of course I'm going to be there," Arthur replied. But then, realizing how soft his answer sounded, he added, "I mean, Matthew told me your celebration practically consumes the whole estate, so I don't see that I really have a choice. Not that I plan on participating all that much . . ."

"Awww! But you should!" Alfred insisted. "There'll be lots to do! Don't you wanna try swinging at the piñatas or something?"

"Piñatas?"

"Yeah, I'll even order a unicorn-shaped one for you, if you want."

"That's quite all right," Arthur assured him. "I'm sure you can destroy a piñata with a single hit, so there's no sense in me swinging away for nothing."

"But there'll be other stuff too," Alfred assured him. "How about the pool?"

"I think I'll pass."

"You can swim, right?"

"I—of course I can."

"Yeah, about as well as you can horseback ride, huh?"

"T—that was different!" Arthur stammered, though it really wasn't that different at all. He actually couldn't swim either, but he didn't want to admit it. And what did it matter anyway? He wasn't planning on going into the water anytime soon—especially not at Alfred's birthday party.

"Well, if you don't like parties, what do you like?" Alfred asked him. "I mean, if it were your birthday, what would you wanna do?"

"I'm not sure . . ." Arthur began, caught off guard. No one had bothered asking him a question like that in a long time. "But I wouldn't make such a fuss over it . . . I'd probably spend it in private, in some pleasant, quiet spot, relaxing with my tea and a book . . . of course, I know how incredibly dull that must sound to someone as excitable as you, but—"

"Actually, I think it sounds nice," Alfred said, much to Arthur's shock. "Partying's great and all, but it's nice to relax sometimes too. I get it."

"Oh, well, that's good, I suppose . . ." Arthur trailed off, unsure of what else to say. Thankfully, Alfred took up the slack.

"Listen, I'd better get going soon, 'cause I've got a plane to catch."

"You're flying back already?"

"Not exactly. I mean, I'm flying back to California, but I've still got business to take care of before I come back," Alfred explained. "Sorry to get your hopes up. I know how much you miss me!"

"I already told you, I don't miss you," Arthur snapped.

"Really? Then how come you're always so eager to pick up the phone when I call? And how come you're always replying to my messages right away?"

Arthur blushed crimson, and he was glad Alfred wasn't there to see it. After gathering his wits for a few more seconds, he answered with, "I reply so promptly because I, unlike you, am a gentleman."

In response, Alfred burst out laughing.

"Yeah right!" he exclaimed. "Tell me another one!"

"Oh, I'll tell you another thing all right, you blundering #%&#—!"

"Save it for next time, Mr. Gentleman," Alfred interrupted. "I gotta go. But in case you're wondering, I'll be back in a few days. So I'll see you then."

"Fine," Arthur replied, cooling off.

"Oh, and Mom says hi."

"All right. Send her my regards."

"I will. Bye now!"

"G'bye."

xxx

"Arthur says he sends his regards," Alfred told his mother as he took a seat beside her on the first-class portion of the plane.

"Oh, he's such a sweetheart!" Mrs. Jones exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Bob's been giving me updates on their business meetings, and he says Arthur's just the politest man he's ever met!"

"Well, I don't know if I'd go that far," Alfred mumbled, thinking back to the insults Arthur had hurled at him just a few moments before.

"I'm glad he's managing everything okay without us around," Mrs. Jones went on. "I hated to leave Mattie back there alone too, but . . ." She spared a quick glance behind her to ensure her husband wasn't listening. "Your father didn't think there was any reason to bring him along, and the trip sprang up on such short notice that I didn't really have time to argue . . . but Mattie's been a trooper—and Arthur too. I'm going to give them both a big hug when we get back home!"

"I'm sure they'll appreciate that," Alfred said, though he knew they probably wouldn't, considering the bone-crushing strength of his mother's hugs. "So what can you tell me about this vodka company we're going to visit with?"

"I don't know much about them," his mother admitted. "They're based in Russia, but they just opened up an office in the US. I know it's run by someone named Ivan something-or-other . . . anyway, your father thought it would be a good idea to foster a business relationship with them, so that's why we're going."

"Okay. Doesn't sound too strenuous," Alfred said, leaning back in his seat.

If he had known what he was getting himself into, he wouldn't have dared utter such a thing.

xxx

"Stand up straight, Alfred, and don't slouch. We want to make a good first impression," Mr. Jones said, as they waited in the hall of the vodka company's main building.

"I'm not slouching," Alfred muttered. "Since when have I ever slouched?"

"That's enough, you two," Mrs. Jones said, playing the mediator once again. "Bickering will only make a worse impression. So hush up before I clock you both!"

Alfred grudgingly obeyed, looking away to examine the hallway they were currently standing in. Even though it was the vodka company's North American headquarters, it didn't really feel like an office building. For some reason, it felt more like a prison, complete with intimidating guards patrolling every floor. It almost made Alfred wonder if the company had something to hide, but before he could fully consider the subject, he noticed someone approaching their group.

"H-hello," a young woman said, smiling nervously as she addressed them. She had short, light-colored hair, and her chest was practically bursting out of her shirt, but she seemed nice enough. "I'm Mr. Braginski's older sister. P-Please follow me, and I'll take you to him."

Nodding, the Joneses followed the woman down the hall and into a nearby conference room. Two more figures waited for them there, including the vodka company head himself.

"Hello," he greeted them, "My name is Ivan Braginski. I'm glad to finally meet you all." He was grinning as he said it, but there was something off about his smile. Alfred couldn't quite put his finger on it, but . . . it was like the man was exuding some kind of dark aura. He was an intimidating figure to begin with, considering his height (he was even taller than Alfred!), and the fact that he wore a long coat and scarf (which automatically made Alfred think he was trying to conceal something). And although his face appeared to be a portrait of innocence, Alfred got the distinct feeling there was more to it than that.

"Allow me to introduce my sisters," Ivan went on, voice heavy with a Russian accent. "This is my big sister Sofia," he said, gesturing to the woman who had met them in the hall. She still looked as nervous and awkward as ever, though she didn't seem to be exuding any threatening aura like her brother. "And this is my little sister, Natasha," he informed them, gesturing to a woman standing to his right. She was quite beautiful, with flowing hair, dark blue eyes, and a stylish dress. Unfortunately, her beauty was overshadowed by a threatening aura similar to her brother's—or maybe even more threatening, because she wasn't really trying to hide it. Unlike her brother, she wasn't smiling or acting sweet. Mostly, she just kept her eyes on Ivan, almost like a cat lying in wait to pounce. Ivan didn't seem too thrilled about it either, as he avoided meeting her gaze. The whole thing made for a very strange atmosphere in the room—and one that Alfred was all too eager to escape from.

Please just finish this meeting fast, Alfred thought as his father conversed with the Braginskis. This place is starting to feel like a lunatic asylum.

"Ah, Alfred," Ivan said, taking Alfred by surprise. "I've heard a lot about you. I know we'll be good friends, yes?" He began to smile again, but it only succeeded in creeping Alfred out even more.

"Uh . . . sure we'll be friends . . ."

"Then I look forward to seeing you all again soon," Ivan went on. Though he was addressing all of the Joneses, he was looking directly at Alfred as he said it.

It made Alfred feel very grateful that their meeting was drawing to a close.

xxx

After the Joneses had left the building and were safely out of earshot, Alfred took the opportunity to exclaim, "Man, that was the creepiest dude I've ever met in my life!"

"Really? I thought he sounded like a nice young man," his mother said, apparently oblivious to the dark aura Ivan was exuding. "He had such a nice smile too. His younger sister seemed a little stiff, I'll admit, but—"

"Are you kidding me?" Alfred interrupted. "It was like—like—they were the KGB or something!"

"That's absurd, Alfred," his father told him. "Don't go accusing them of anything. They're going to be an important business contact for us in the future; we don't want to alienate them."

"Wait, you mean you're seriously thinking about doing business with them!"

"Of course," his father said. "Why wouldn't we?"

"Well then, count me out," Alfred grumbled. "You can deal with them, and I'll just stay out of it."

"Ordinarily, I wouldn't disagree with you," Mr. Jones replied. "Especially considering your unprofessional behavior at the moment. But it seems like Mr. Braginski took a liking to you, so I think it would be to our advantage if you continued meeting with him as well."

"What? Like hell I'm going to—"

"Alfred, honey, please just give it a few days," his mother told him, putting her arm around his shoulders. "Maybe once you've thought it over a bit, you'll realize there wasn't anything strange about Mr. Braginski at all. I think you're letting your imagination get the better of you. I suppose I let you watch too many Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons as a child—"

"It has nothing to do with that!" Alfred insisted, though he was tired of arguing with his parents. He especially didn't want to argue with his mother, so he decided to put his misgivings aside for the time being and focus on something else . . . like his birthday . . . and Arthur.

I'll be back home soon, he thought. I'll be able to see Arthur again, and it's almost my birthday!

That was right. Nothing could spoil his birthday, not even Ivan Braginski.

This year will be the best birthday ever! he told himself, grinning. No question about it!

xxx

Well, there you have it! Ivan makes his *terrifying* debut! I think he's hiding his lead pipe under his coat. Sorry if it seemed like the scene was a little rushed, but he'll be back—I promise! And just a few short notes on naming: Belarus's human name is sometimes called "Natalia" but I personally liked Natasha better, so I went with that. Ukraine doesn't have an official human name, but Sofia was one of the possible human names considered for her, and I thought it was pretty, so I used it. :D Oh, and for those of you who aren't familiar with the "Rocky and Bullwinkle" reference, it's a cartoon from the 1950's/60's in which the two main villains were spies named Boris and Natasha. They were essentially comedic villains with Russian accents (even though they were supposedly from some made-up country called Pottsylvania). So Alfred's mom was saying he watched too much of this show and now thinks suspiciously of people with Russian accents. XD So what does Ivan have in store for Alfred . . . ? You'll just have to wait and see! *laughs evilly*

And I had to get Mattie and his maple syrup in there just this once! He finally gets the kitchen to himself now that Alfred isn't around XD

And on a completely unrelated note, I was registering for next semester's classes when I came across this one course that had the topic "Ghosts in English Fiction" XD It made me think of Arthur so much! This would be like his ideal class topic :D I totally signed up for it too! And I also signed up for this class on graphic novels, though I doubt we'll be studying manga lol Still, I can dream, can't I?

Next chapter: Birthday madness begins (for real!) What present do you guys think Arthur will get for Alfie?

So I hope you guys enjoyed this chaptie, and I promise to get the next one up in a more timely manner! And please don't forget to REVIEW! More reviews = next chapter faster!

Everybody have a great week, and I'll see you guys next time!