A/N: First and foremost, I am extremely sorry for this super late chapter update. Like, I had school and writer's block and it was all just bleh. Please forgive me? From now on the updates should be regular (every weekend).

Michelle is the name I used for Seychelles.

Happy Valentine's Day/Single Awareness Day!

Disclaimer: Nope. Nada. Nichts. Non. Nyet. Do not own Hetalia.

The rest of the week wasn't at all pleasant for Alfred. But then again, when was his life pleasant? Matthew didn't speak or even look at him; Gilbert would give worried glances his way; his friend's seemed more and more distant; and Ivan just wouldn't leave him alone! Add that onto the fact that he wasn't losing as much weight as he liked, and Alfred was an uptight, frustrated machine. Ready to blow.

Of course, his parents weren't helping either. Hell, Alfred never saw them anymore to begin with. They were always out doing who-knows-what and – since Matthew practically lived at Gilbert's house now – leaving him at home by himself. That was alright, the American supposed. At least he didn't have any more family dinners to avoid and explanations to say as to why he wasn't eating as much.

But it grew so lonely.

Sometimes, when he wasn't working out or on the scale, the American would lie down on his bed and stare up at the ceiling. The silence would stretch around him so much that he could hear every creak and every whirring and every sound in the house. There would be no shouting. No yelling. No teacups clinking. No hushed tones. No whispers. No talking. No music. No doors closing or slamming. No overall chaos.

No one other than himself in the house, breathing.

Alfred wondered if it was all because of him. If that was why he was alone now. Was this Arthur's new way of punishment for being his son? Or maybe it was Francis'…? Either way he knew that he'd shooed his brother off. But that really shouldn't be a surprise. He always estranged himself from people. After all, didn't he deserve this for being so obnoxious and loud? For being fat and ugly and stupid and insufferable?

Somehow the truth of that left him feeling numb.

It was on days like this that Alfred wanted to die the most. Who would miss him anyway? Surely not his family or friends; they had other things to worry about besides a fat, lonely, pathetic American. Definitely not his fellow classmates; they didn't know him to begin with. So who then?

Alfred's stomach rumbled. He hadn't eaten for three days. The hunger pains were subsiding now that he had mastered the art of tuning them out, but he'd never get used to them. "It's just until I've reached my goal," Alfred whispered to himself. "Then I can eat again."

The door slammed suddenly. The American didn't get up out of bed, didn't even move. Laughter filled the house and there were footsteps coming up the stairs. The American didn't get up out of bed, didn't even move. A knock came from the closed door. And what did Alfred do? He didn't acknowledge it. The doorknob turned and someone came in and asked, "Alfred? Are you asleep?"

"No," Alfred answered, sitting up and looking at his papa.

"Okay well, come downstairs and say hello to Aunt Michelle."

At that the American promptly groaned and flopped back onto his bed. "Nope!" He exclaimed in defiance. "I am not going to say hello to her."

"Why not? I thought you liked Aunt Michelle."

"Yeah well last time was not fun," Alfred dryly countered, thinking of the time when his aunt had made a remark on what he looked like and then dragged him to go shopping.

"This won't be like last time." Francis said easily, leaning against the wall.

"How do you know?"

A tired sigh. "Just come downstairs, Alfred. Don't make me drag you down there."

Getting out of bed with a glare, the teenager proclaimed, "You owe me."

The parent raised an eyebrow and followed out the bedroom door. "I owe you nothing."

Aunt Michelle was not Alfred's favorite aunt. Sitting there on the back patio and engaging in conversation with her while his parents made dinner was not Alfred's favorite pastime. Watching her complaining about the economy and money or expensive life is, was not Alfred's favorite thing to do. But he had to or otherwise he would get ripped into.

"…So I said to the man, 'What is so wrong about how I live my life?' and he said, 'You'll go bankrupt!'. Bankrupt! Can you believe it?" Michelle lamented now, sipping on some champagne. "If only I could get some more money…"

Alfred watched her tiredly. "You could always find a better paying workplace," he offered, standing up to shake his legs out.

"Oh no, Alfred, I couldn't. You don't understand. I – hey! Did you lose some weight?"

Blue eyes looked down at his body. He didn't think that anyone would have noticed his weight loss beneath the clothes he wore. Then again, his aunt had a keen eye for such things. Part of him felt happy, while another part worried over what she thought. Looking back at Michelle, he noticed how she flipped a long, brown pigtail over her shoulder and stared at him intensely. Brown eyes seemed to be appraising, so he thought it was safe. "Y-Yeah…" he admitted, color flooding in his face.

Michelle nodded and soothed some wrinkles out of her blue dress before saying, "You look good."

But not good enough, a voice growled in his mind.

"Thanks," the blonde said, trying to cover the disappointment. He didn't want to look good, he wanted to look great.

"So do you think you can accompany me to the mall tomorrow?"

"Uh sorry but I have a project that I need to work on."

"Ah. Well you can always set that to the side, you know. Just for the day."

"Ha well this is gonna sound like I'm avoiding you and all – which I'm totally not – but my project partner and I have, um, plans." Alfred nearly choked saying that. He could just picture Ivan all gleeful tomorrow because he had asked for a study date – even if it was just to avoid Michelle.

Said woman's face fell. She looked down at her champagne glass and swirled the drink around for a few seconds before gulping it all down. "O-Oh okay," she stuttered, looking as if she were about to cry. "I just thought that, you know, since Francis said that you needed new clothes…I just…I thought that you wanted to go with me…had I known that you had plans already –"

The sliding door opened just then, cutting Michelle off. Arthur stepped out onto the wood and narrowed his eyes when he saw how distressed his guest was. Glancing quickly at Alfred in a What-The-Bloody-Hell-Did-You-Do Look, he asked tentatively, "Something wrong? Michelle, why are you crying?"

Michelle looked tearfully up and lied, "Oh we were just discussing my ex boyfriend is all. Alfred was just…he was just…"

"He was just what? Did he hurt you?"

"Oh no! Nothing like that! Why would he? He – He's such a n-nice young man…He was just comforting me."

"Comforting you?"

"Y-Yes," the aunt verified, wiping her eyes. Changing the topic, she inquired, "Is dinner ready?"

Arthur nodded in affirmative. "Go on inside already, Michelle. Alfred and I will be out shortly."

Michelle got up, and once the Brit's back was to her, she spared Alfred a worried look and mouthed, "It'll be okay."

Then she left, closing the sliding door.

At once, the Brit rounded on the American. "That," he hissed, "was the biggest pack of lies I've ever heard! You obviously blackmailed her into lying for you just so you won't get in trouble."

Alfred backed up, his mind reeling. So far all he could comprehend was that his father thought he was dangerous and that his aunt had lied for him. Why she lied for him, he had no clue. All he knew was that she did. Did he hurt you? Arthur's words echoed. Alfred couldn't breathe. True, Aunt Michelle wasn't his favorite, but he would never hurt her. Yet his dad thought he would. And the fact he had even said that in front of him to Michelle was like a giant punch in the face. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. He would never hurt her. Never. So why did Arthur think he did? Why was that his first blame?

Did he hurt you?

The teen resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. "No, no that's not true," he defended.

The grown up rolled his eyes. "Please, git, I know when I've been lied to."

"But that doesn't mean I blackmailed her!"

"Oh so she did lie for you?"

"NO!"

Green eyes suddenly became very dark. "Listen here, Alfred," Arthur threatened ominously. "If I find out you had her lying for you, you'll wish you'd never been born."

Too late, Alfred thought. I already feel that way. Instead, he just gulped and nodded, keeping those thoughts to himself.

Without another word, the Brit turned around and headed back inside, leaving the American outside feeling scared and hurt.

Dinner sucked – to say the least. Arthur occasionally glared at Alfred; Michelle was, well, Michelle; Francis kept the conversation going even though no one really wanted to talk; Matthew wasn't there; and Alfred was playing with his food, feeling absolutely repulsed by it.

"Something wrong, Alfred?" Francis questioned upon noticing his son not eating.

Alfred looked up. "What?" He asked.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Oh! No, nothing's wrong. Why?"

"You're not eating."

The American gave a little chuckle. "Guess I'm just not that hungry."

No one laughed.

"So," Michelle began awkwardly. "Do you know where your other son is? God I'm so sorry, but I keep forgetting his name."

"Matthew?" Arthur answered. Upon the woman's nod, he continued, "No. I haven't seen him. Actually he hasn't been around the house very much these days."

"He's probably at the Beilschmidt's, making out with Gilbert," Alfred mumbled, continuing to pick at his food.

"I'm sorry what?"

"I just said he's probably at Gilbert's." Came the louder reply.

Francis hummed and looked thoughtful. "Any idea why he would be there?" he wondered.

Probably 'cause his boyfriend is Gilbert and probably 'cause they're sexing each other up and probably 'cause they don't want to do it here where they'll get caught. The reply breezed easily through the teen's head, but he didn't say it. While the utter look of shock on his parents and his aunt's face would be hilarious, he'd get in so much trouble. So he didn't answer.

"You know something, don't you?" Aunt Michelle said to her nephew, her brown eyes twinkling.

It was after dinner and Alfred was in his room, drawing in his red notebook. Somehow he had managed not to eat anything, an accomplishment he was actually really proud of. So before anyone could say anything about his full plate, he bounded up the stairs and holed himself in his room. Only for someone to come barging in twenty minutes later, asking him about what his brother was up to.

Alfred stopped drawing to look up at her, slightly annoyed. "What? Me?" The teen asked innocently.

"Mhm."

"Nuh uh. I know nothin'."

The brunette closed the door and leaned against it. "Come on," she said eagerly, "you can tell me! I'm your aunt!"

The blonde shook his head. "No can do."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I don't wanna, that's why."

Michelle pouted. "Party pooper."

Alfred rolled his eyes and got back to drawing. "You're no fun, either."

A silence rolled between them before the woman made her way over to where the teenager was sitting. Taking a seat right next to him, she watched him draw Superman for a bit before stating, "You didn't eat at dinner."

Alfred's chest constricted and he clutched the pencil harder. So someone had noticed after all. Dammit! He cursed. Fighting to keep the panic in his voice hidden he replied, "Oh?"

"Your plate was still full. Care to explain why?"

"No."

Michelle hugged her knees to her chest and rested her head on them, leaning against the wall. Side glancing at Alfred, she remarked, "I find that kind of odd, don't you?"

"No."

"I mean, last time I visited you had seconds. But this time you didn't even eat."

Alfred didn't answer. He didn't trust himself to. Fat, the voice rang. Gritting his teeth, he flung to a new page and started a new drawing.

Meanwhile, Michelle kept talking. "Were you just not hungry? But that's stupid, you're always hungry. What is it, Al? What's going on?"

"Please don't call me Al." Came the terse reply.

"O-Okay…so do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

The aunt nodded, respecting his privacy. She got up and made her way to the door. Just as her hand fell on the doorknob, Alfred sighed and looked back up. "Hey, Aunt Michelle?" He started.

The brunette turned back to him. "Yes, Alfred?" She prompted.

"Why did you lie earlier? About the ex boyfriend thing?"

The islander made a face and sucked in a breath. "Arthur…Arthur doesn't treat you right, does he?" She guessed in a low voice.

"What?"

"He doesn't. I can tell."

Alfred stared at her in bewilderment.

Michelle pressed on. "I didn't want to see you punished for not going with me out to the mall. So I lied. But it's our secret, yes?"

Then she turned around and left before he could wrap his head around what she had said.

The next day was Thursday. And, waiting for Ivan to show up to class, Alfred seriously rethought his decision about not playing hooky. So maybe his aunt was better than he originally thought she was. And yeah, maybe he should have taken her offer of going to the mall. But he didn't. And now he was stuck with asking Ivan if they could work on the stupid project some more after school.

Fun.

The Russian finally walked in just as the bell rang. As usual, he took his seat next to the American and said a quick hello. Stomach churning, Alfred said hello back before Mr. Chancy started class.

Anxiety built up in him. He could not do this. He could not do this. He just couldn't ask his project partner for a study date. Not when his partner was his enemy! That was the epitome of being a No No! What was he thinking? What if Ivan said no? Then what? What if Ivan laughed? Or – Space Race forbid – what if Ivan took it the wrong way? Nope! Alfred could not ask. He would not ask.

…But Aunt Michelle's face when he told her he was busy…

Alfred bit his tongue and discreetly got out a paper and pencil. Every ounce in his body told him not to, but he ended up doing it anyway. Reading the note over, more anxiety built up. It was just one question, just one line, but it hurt to write.

Hey, it read, are you busy after school?

The American tossed it onto the Russian's desk, face burning.

Two minutes later, the reply came sailing back:

No. Why?

Alfred scribbled a quick sentence.

Do you wanna meet up at the public library and work on the project?

Ivan quickly responded, writing:

^J^ Of course!

The blue-eyed teen rolled his eyes, somewhat relieved.

Don't sound so freaking excited, Braginsky.

The next note from the violet-eyed teen left him speechless.

How can I not be excited when it's you who asked?