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If one thing could be said about Arthur Kirkland, it was that he was prideful as hell.
He had always been that way; if he ever scrapped his knees after falling off his bike (which didn't happen often as he rarely ventured outside), he would always stand up on his own regardless of how badly his skin was bleeding and bruised. If someone insulted him at school (which didn't happen often as he rarely socialized), he would always stand on his own and fight with his sharp tongue and sharper mind. If he was ever beaten at a game of chess (which had never happened as he always won at chess), it was to be assumed that he would assault his opponent with a barrage of strategical commentary until his enemy backed down or made a foolish move he could use to his advantage.
Which is why it pained him deeply, hurting more than any mortal wound and harsher than any insult, when Kiku confined him to bed yesterday.
He had woken up with a heavy, painful feeling in the back of his throat, one that caused him to grimace whenever he swallowed. His arms and legs felt like chunks of lead stapled into a torso, numbed by goose bumps and the cold. Although his forehead was burning up, he was forced to cocoon himself in his blankets from how frozen the rest of his body felt.
It's probably nothing serious, Arthur managed to think in his heat-induced haze, as he dragged his feet over the edge of his bed and tried to stand up, violent coughing fits forcing him to sit back down again. Even if it is, I won't allow my body to stop me from my plans for today.
A glance to his phone confirmed his suspicions; The New York Times had recently updated the schedule for the second Metropolitan Museum press conference, stating that it would start in less than thirty minutes at NYU's School of Law. Considering he hadn't been able to go to the first Metropolitan press conference, he wanted to go to the second one so that he could spy on America incognito.
"Arthur-san?" Kiku's voice spoke through the door, making whatever blood present in Arthur's face drain. Whenever he got sick, the Japanese always went into a sort of maternity mode, which was both hilarious and disturbing every time he caught the flu or a cold. "Are you alright? It sounds like you're trying to cough up a lung."
"I-I'm fine, Kiku," Arthur assured, hoping that the Asian couldn't detect the hoarseness of his voice or the wavering of his tone. "I-I was just getting up so that I could go to the press conference-"
The word 'surprise' couldn't begin to describe what he felt when the door busted open, leaving Kiku standing in its wake armed with a surgical mask, rubber gloves, and an entire box worth of medicines and ointments underneath his arm.
He pointed a gloved hand towards the box he carried, and pointed to Arthur with 'no-nonsense' clearly written in his expression.
Arthur swallowed-grimacing again when he did so-in nervousness and fear of the things soon to come.
That had all happened yesterday. He had missed the press conference because his body just had to go off and get sick, causing him to stay in bed with Kiku fretting over him like a child. And he still hadn't gotten any better.
This is so humiliating, the Brit thought distastefully, hating how cold the plastic tip of the thermometer felt against the underside of his tongue. He inwardly cringed when he removed the thermometer and checked the temperature. 38 degrees Celsius/100.4 degrees Fahrenheit stared back at him on the digital screen. I'm a twenty-two year old man who is both a thief and an enemy of the NYPD, but I'm rendered helpless because of being sick?
The Japanese glanced at the temperature and shook his head, 'tsk'ing all the while. "You still have a fever," he informed, standing up so that he could wash the thermometer off in the Englishman's bathroom. "So I'm afraid you haven't recovered, Arthur-san."
The blond groaned, holding his head in his hands. "This is the second time I've been unable to go the press conference," he mumbled, removing his hands and staring out his bedside window to observe what was going on down below. This time yesterday, people were gathering around the School of Law, varying from newspaper reporters to college students whose classes required them to attend the event. He had seen them all loiter around aimlessly until police officials allowed them inside, to where America and all his superiors were-! "How am I supposed to observe my enemy's movements outside of my England guise without going to their publicity stunts?"
Kiku rolled his eyes, returning to Arthur's bedside and applying a cold towel to his forehead, sending goose bumps trailing up his body. "No need to be so dramatic," he lightly chided, laughing when he earned a non-threatening glare from his English roommate. "It's likely that reporters have posted what happened on the internet, so you only need to look online to see what you missed."
"Yes," Arthur nodded, pressing the towel into his face with the palm of his head, a moan of pleasure escaping his raw throat given how good the cold felt against his heated skin. "But still…"
It's one thing to see America and the NYPD as England, he reflected, his brow furrowing with every second he spent dwelling on the subject. But it's another thing to see America and the NYPD without them knowing who I am. It's more personal that way; a sense of surrealism that they can't touch you.
He shrugged on the inside when taking the events of the first conference into consideration. It was probably for the best that I didn't show up; America would have recognized me from before and wouldn't have let the kiss go unnoticed.
"As your partner-in-crime, roommate, and friend, I refuse to let you wander around when you're still weakened," the Japanese reminded, provoking another groan from the Brit. He ignored the negative reaction from the blond, instead piling another blanket onto his shivering form. "How do you expect to defeat America and the NYPD if you can barely leave your bed?"
A low grumble protruded beneath the blankets, quirking another small laugh from Kiku. "If it'll help you out, I'll get Alfred-san to come over and take care of you~"
The Asian could faintly register the Brit's head shaking in disagreement beneath the covers. "Don't you dare," Arthur coughed out, hating how scratchy his voice sounded to his own ears. "I wouldn't want him to see me like this."
The Englishman could practically see his roommate smirk. "I doubt he'd think differently of you simply because you're ill," Kiku acknowledged, his voice muffled because of the fabric covering Arthur's ears. "If anything, your love 'o meter will skyrocket thanks to him taking care of you~"
"S-shut up," the blond retorted half-heartedly, burying his face in his pillows in a futile attempt to hide how badly he was blushing. "I don't need help to get better; I'm perfectly fine taking care of myself."
To be honest, he had no idea where that pride kink in his personality came from; it was a ridiculous notion to assume that things like 'pride' were genetic. If that were the case, it couldn't have been from his parents because they knew when it was better to let go and move on, considering they had to relinquish a lot of pride in order to move from England to the United States. While it was a more reasonable idea to assume it took shape from the people he was surrounded by, it couldn't have been from Kiku because he understood when pride acted as a sword more than a shield, and it couldn't have been from Alfred as even he was aware of the difference between self-esteem and arrogance.
He couldn't help it, though. He assumed that, if his dealings with self-esteem/arrogance could have come from any source, it would have come from no one from himself and the situations he faced.
When everything started crumbling around me, my pride was the only thing that kept me together, Arthur thought, his eyes growing half-lidded against his pillow sheets, his grip on his blankets tightening until his knuckles turned white. While Alfred helped me at every opportunity, there were certain things I had no choice but to keep him in the dark about. Another reason why I can't afford for him to see me like this.
"Hello, Alfred-san? It's Kiku."
That voice jolted him out of his thoughts as if his brain was struck by electricity.
The Briton lunged from beneath his covers, his face burning bright at the prospect of what might happen, his nerves twisting into knots over and over again. His Japanese roommate was a good distance away from him, his iphone held to his ear with a mischievous grin etched onto his features.
"I'm sorry to intrude on you so suddenly, but it's relating to Arthur-san," he notified over the phone, dodging a pillow that Arthur threw with ease. For a person whose immune system had been rendered weak due to a childhood spent inside and was currently fighting a fever, he had surprisingly good aim. "He's been sick for the past two days and I need to run a few errands. Could you please drop by and keep an eye on him until I return?"
The brunette continued to dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge the pillows the blond was bombarding him with, all the while keeping the phone pressed to his ear as he replied accordingly. "Ah, yes. Please excuse the noise in the background, it's nothing to worry about. Yes, I'll see you soon, Alfred-san."
He hung up and glanced at the exhausted Englishman, who was trying to steady his breathing and rubbing at his sore arms. "He'll be here shortly."
Arthur collapsed into his pile of pillows, groaning a third time as he covered his face. "Why would you do that, Kiku? What errands do you need to run?"
"Technically, they're errands for Japan," Kiku replied, resulting in the flustered Brit to look up from his hands to his accomplice. "After you've watched all the footage and read all the articles pertaining to the second metropolitan conference, we'll need to create a plan of attack on the off-chance that America and the NYPD reclaim their positive image. Until then, I'll scope out the surrounding areas for potential museums to 'visit'."
'England' nodded in agreement, grabbing his phone so that he could read the articles and watch the videos sooner. "Right. I'll make sure to do so when Alfred isn't around."
'Japan' smiled a miniscule amount when he heard a knock emit from the door of their dorm. "That must be him. As difficult as it will be, you must behave yourself, Arthur-san~"
For reasons other than a fever, the Briton blushed to the tips of his ears. "J-just go, already!"
~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~
Yesterday sucked.
There was no point in denying it.
Alfred expected for the press and public to be pissed off at him for the Metropolitan Museum going up in black smoke; it was a situation they felt he could have prevented (which he could if he had simply gone in 'O's place, though he had no idea what might have happened then), so he anticipated for them to be at least a little upset.
Sadly, Alfred was never good at predicting people's methods of thinking, unlike Arthur.
"Let's review what's happened so far," Vash said before the press conference was to start, as Alfred listened in. "Even though you tracked England's location down and we secured the perimeter, pictures still got out of the museum going up in smoke. Because of the fact that England didn't appear on the security cameras, the guards were knocked out with the same substance as before, and the jewelry was still there, people assume that you tried to reclaim your reputation as a hero by sending the police to a location where you knew England had struck before, knocking out and tying up the guards, and setting up a smoke bomb to make it look like England was there but he got away before you could catch him. In other words-"
"I screwed up," Alfred finished, facepalming. "I screwed up big time. How did they come to assume that it was me, again?"
"They've based it on our actions from before," the Department Chief admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Because of what we did to maintain our public image, our relationships with the public and media have been strained to say the least. The public felt like they deserved to know about a criminal on the loose and started wondering what other kinds of information we've hidden from them. The press took advantage of the people's emotions by publishing more slander directed towards us, increasing their influence on civilians and their profits in one move. Because of our past decisions, not everyone views the NYPD as a force for justice and you as a hero. To answer your question, they assume it was you because they want someone to pin the blame on, someone that they used to consider as New York's golden boy, someone who they already harbor dislike towards as you represent the police."
"And nobody wants to think England was actually there because so much of the media considers him a hero," the American divulged, his skin pale beneath his mask, his hands tightly clenched into fists at his sides. He really needed to repair his gloves. "That he's a savior for showing the world what the NYPD and I will do to keep us in everyone's favor."
Disgusting, he thought, biting his lip to give him a semblance of feeling save for the twisting of his stomach. He baited me to make a move without considering the consequences and I took it! It doesn't matter whether we show the video he sent us on the night of the second heist; they'll think it's a fake to reinstate their trust.
His gaze hardened behind his mask when remembering his words, his message designed to evoke pathos and make him run amuck with unadulterated anger. While it was better to have Oya infiltrate the premise and catch England by surprise, that was a one-time trump card. No doubt that England would prepare himself in case it happened again.
All in all, he had achieved nothing except cause unnecessary suffering for the NYPD, make England look like a hero, and himself like a fool.
He is truly…despicable.
"-erica? America!" Vash shouted, making the American nearly jump from where they stood backstage. "I said to keep calm, okay? Regardless of whether the public or press will like it, you know the truth about what happened that night. Don't let that truth be tainted by their ignorance, you got that?"
Alfred nodded, the weight of his head feeling as heavy as the weight in his heart. No matter what, he had to do this. He couldn't sit back and let England achieve his goal (if any) without a fight.
They were in this mess because of his incompetence; he drew this double-sided sword, now it was time for him to attack.
Needless to say, yesterday sucked.
Regardless of how many times he tried to convince them otherwise, the reporters and audience members asked him questions relating to his failure, all with the same unrelenting vigor one would expect from a pack of vicious carnivores. 'Did you really think that England would strike the same place twice, or did you use that to your advantage by re-creating a crime?', 'What did you hope to gain from knocking out the guards, tying them up, and releasing a smoke bomb in the first place?', 'Was the police in on this sham of yours to reenact the first Metropolitan heist, or did you use them like they've used you?'.
With all that in mind, Alfred's mood brightened up when he heard his phone go off ('I'm Proud to be an American' by Lee Greenwood, unlike his superhero phone that played 'Hero' by Nickelback) and the caller I.D revealed it to be Kiku.
"Hey, Kiku," he greeted after a moment, one hand holding his phone to his ear while his other hand dried his hair with a towel as he had just come out of the shower. The bespectacled blond set his phone on speaker as he shuffled through his drawers for something to wear. "How's it going over there?"
"I'm sorry to intrude on you so suddenly, but it's relating to Arthur-san," the Japanese confessed, making Alfred's heart tighten in his chest while numerous scenarios ran through his mind. What if he got hurt? Was whatever happened so bad that Kiku had to call in Arthur's place? "He's been sick for the past two days and I need to run a few errands. Could you please drop by and keep an eye on him until I return?"
A sigh of relief escaped from the American as the panic in his system vanished. "Thank God," he laughed, scratching his head from embarrassment. "I thought something terrible happened to him. Sure, I'll be there shortly."
He registered what sounded like a pillow colliding with a rolling chair, quirking a light eyebrow to rise against his forehead. "Uh, everything okay over there?"
"Ah, yes. Please excuse the noise in the background, it's nothing to worry about. Yes, I'll see you soon, Alfred-san."
His confused expression only deepened when the Asian immediately hung up. But, he decided it'd probably be best to get going as quickly as possible, as Kiku was probably being pelted with pillows at the moment. That sort of thing tended to happen whenever someone tried helping Arthur when he wasn't feeling well.
He always gets all flustered when someone tries to lend him a hand when he's sick, Alfred thought with a small smile, that smile turning to a slight grimace when remembering being on the receiving end of his pillow-ammunition. For a person whose immune system had been rendered weak due to a childhood spent inside and was currently fighting a fever, he had surprisingly good aim. It's kind of cute.
Whatever color present in his face increased tenfold when realizing his thoughts, as he shook his head in an attempt to dissuade said thoughts and opened the door to his dorm.
No, no, no, he addressed internally, heading down the stairs to Arthur and Kiku's dorm, mistaking the rapid beating of his heart and the flushing of his cheeks for the speed in which he was traveling. Friends don't think of each other like that, especially close friends!
The American didn't realize he had arrived at the dorm until he felt his knuckles knock against the wood. He soon regretted the speed in which he left his dorm, his eyes growing wide behind his glasses as the fact sunk in that he'd have to take care of Arthur with things like feeding him or possibly bathing him-!
He found difficulty swallowing when the thought of Arthur, with cheeks awash in red and half-lidded eyes, crossed his mind.
He didn't realize his fists had clenched on the railway until he felt a gentle squeeze from someone's hand force his grip to relax, his bespectacled sapphire eyes encountering seemingly-endless pools of emerald staring at him. Arthur's eyes were no longer hidden behind sunglasses, instead uncovered and reflecting the red and orange of the setting sun, wide with worry and uncertainty.
The tall blond wondered if Arthur's touch was always so comforting, if it was possible to drown in the deepness of someone's expressions, and if it was natural for his heart to race so fast in his chest.
Alfred brushed some strands of messy blond hair out of Arthur's face, curious as to how/when the distance between them diminished so much.
He didn't realize he had cupped the Briton's cheek until he felt his fingertips skim the boy's cheek.
At this point, all Alfred knew was warmth. The warmth of the diminishing sun, the warmth of Arthur's cheeks, the warmth of his own heart beating wildly within his chest cavity. He couldn't speak, he couldn't phrase anything into words, and the only thing he could think was one sentence:
More than anything, I want him to be happy because I-
Once more, he shook his head in an attempt to dissuade his thoughts and stepped inside when the door opened, wearing a smile to not concern Kiku as the Asian stepped into the hall to leave, and to mask how badly his heart was tugging in his chest cavity.
"He took some Tylenol yesterday to help diminish his fever, but it only kicked in when he went to sleep," the brunette explained, handing him a list of what had happened so far in case he forgot. "He hasn't taken any more today because he's convinced the medicine's still working on his immune system, so make him take some more if his conditions worsen. In the worst-case scenario, don't hesitate to call a doctor."
Alfred nodded, accepting the paper and storing it in his pocket. "Got it," he beamed, saluting the Japanese enthusiastically to conceal how much he hoped the worse-case scenario wouldn't happen. "You can count on me!"
His aura of confidence vanished when the door closed, leaving an aura of nervousness in its wake. More than anything, he didn't want to experience another big screw-up like he had with the NYPD as America, especially if it involved Arthur's well-being.
While I know it's silly to be over exaggerating over something like a fever, I can't help but feel scared I'll make some kind of mistake, Alfred mentally confided, grabbing the bottle of Tylenol and walking to Arthur's bedroom. It seems like I've done nothing but make mistakes, mistakes that have cost others dearly. I wouldn't want to see someone like Arthur experience unnecessary hardship or unnecessary pain because of me. I…don't know if I'd be able to bear it if that happened.
"Alfred? You've been staring into space for a while now, are you alright?" That voice, that same voice that reached out to him from behind a door all those years ago, interrupted his train of thought.
The bespectacled blond blinked, registering the sight of Arthur clad in blankets on his bed, a sheepish smile overcoming his features as he scratched his head.
"Sorry about that, just thinking's all," he reassured with a wave of his hand, setting the Tylenol bottle on the Brit's bedside table. "So you got sick again, huh? What'd you do this time?"
All the color temporarily drained out of the boy's face. Temporarily.
"Stood out in the rain, nothing more," he huffed, provoking a 'oh really' look to overtake the American's facial features. "But you know how weak my immune system is; apparently my body can't take longer than twenty minutes."
"What were you doing that required you to stand in the rain for at least twenty minutes?" Alfred wondered out loud, glancing outside to check on the current weather status and missing the sad look that adorned Arthur's face for a split-second. "I doubt you were singing."
"As a matter of fact, I was," Arthur proclaimed, making Alfred double-over in laughter. "I was! It was raining, I was in New York over by Broadway, I couldn't help myself!"
"S-so you mean to tell me," Alfred managed to say, wiping a tear from his eye as he redirected his gaze to his sick friend with a genuine smile lighting up his features. "That you happened to be over by Broadway while it was raining, so you decided to sing in the rain?"
Arthur looked him with a serious expression. "Yes."
Alfred proceeded to hold his stomach as his laughter became too painful for him to endure sitting up straight (or slouched-over, as Arthur always nagged him about sitting up straight instead of hunched over all the time). "Y-you," he started, his face hurting from how badly he was smiling. "Y-you are the geekiest guy I've known by far."
Once more, he missed an expression cross the Brit's features. A brief look of happiness that lasted as quickly as it left.
"Seriously though, how'd you end up sick so suddenly?" Alfred asked when his laughter died down, his eyes bright as he rested his hand on his cheek, his curiosity increasing when noting how the Briton played with his fingers to avoid having to meet his gaze. "Allergies or something?"
"Yes," Arthur responded, his brow furrowing slightly. "Allergies. Don't worry about it."
He reached over and ruffled the blond's locks, relishing the indignant squawk that emitted from the boy. "As long as you're okay, okay?"
"Stop flirting with me, Jones," the Englishman rolled his eyes, a slight grin playing against his cheekbones. "Be grateful that I'm not shoving a pillow in your face."
The American cascaded a glance to the pillows currently surrounding the Brit, swallowing in mock-nervousness. "Yeah, those pillows of yours are weapons of mass destruction."
"Be afraid!" Arthur exclaimed (or as well as one can exclaim with a sore throat) as he held a pillow over his head like he was preparing to strike Alfred down, his face scrunched up in a way that he probably thought looked intimidating when it was really as intimidating as an kitten. "Be very afraid!"
Alfred laughed again, scooting his chair away from the blond's bedside with his hands in surrender. "Spare me, please," he joked, sprawling dramatically against the back of his chair when Arthur's pillow hit him squarely in the chest. He extended his hand outwards as he pretended to sputter and cough. "R-rose…bud."
Arthur rolled his eyes again, covering his mouth with his hands in vain efforts at hiding his grin. "Your acting is as terrible as your English, Jones."
"You just jelly, again."
"I'd rather be Nutella, thank you."
"D-did you just-?"
"Yes."
Neither of them could maintain a poker face for much longer, as they proceeded to laugh again. Alfred had never been able to really hold a poker face against Arthur, or anyone else really. The only one who he'd been able to maintain an appearance of steel with was England, but England was a…different case.
England was a walking contradiction that was for sure; sometimes, his plans felt elaborate and well thought-out, while other times they felt simple and improvised. Sometimes, his actions were easy-to-read -Alfred able to anticipate his responses with ease- but sometimes his actions caught him completely off-guard as he struggled to grasp with what just happened.
What really got to him were England's methods of thinking. He couldn't even begin to fathom what went on in his mind! Whenever he tried to get a grasp on what went through his head, England went off and did something that contradicted what he previously assumed and slipped through his fingers like water.
His actions were calculable but his mindset was not, making him the worst type of enemy: an unpredictable one.
That epiphany came to him when he and Arthur were watching 'The Dark Knight' together on the Brit's laptop, as Arthur had never seen the movie before and agreed to watch it if Alfred watched a few episodes of 'Black Butler'. That epiphany came to him when he was watching the movie and he heard a monologue from the Joker that didn't seem too big of a deal before, but now startled him:
"'Don't talk like one of them. You're not! Even if you'd like to be. To them, you're just a freak, like me! They need you right now, but when they don't, they'll cast you out, like a leper! You see, their morals, their code, it's a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble. They're only as good as the world allows them to be. I'll show you. When the chips are down, these... these civilized people, they'll eat each other. See, I'm not a monster. I'm just ahead of the curve.'"
Once more, he found himself unable to maintain a poker face when Arthur suddenly turned off the movie shortly after that monologue was spoken, surprise and shock clearly visible against his facial features as he blinked to register how pale both he and Arthur had become.
"I-I took that Tylenol earlier," the Brit yawned, his skin still pale for unbeknownst reasoning. "S-so I'm feeling kind of tired."
Alfred smiled weakly and released a breath he had no idea he was holding. "Right," he agreed, closing the laptop and putting it on the blond's bedside table after unplugging it. "How are you feeling?"
"I can talk, at least," the British boy informed, rubbing his throat carefully. "And I'm not in as much pain as before."
"That's good to hear," Alfred replied, fluffing up the pillows and covering the Englishman's form with blankets when he rested his back against the headboard. He tried his best to ignore how Arthur's light locks shimmered like gold in the faint moonlight, or how his eyes glowed like emeralds amongst the shadows of the room. "See? It's not too hard when people help you out."
Arthur pretended to pout, crossing his arms over his chest and prompting the American to laugh.
"I'm glad," he yawned when Alfred's laughter died down, his hands now folded in his lap as he looked out the window with drowsy eyes. "I'm very glad."
Alfred's smile still lingered, his eyes bright as he rested his hand on his cheek, looking out the window in vain efforts to find where it was Arthur was looking. He couldn't help but wonder why his line-of-sight trailed in the same direction as the Bronx. "What for?"
There was smile, again. The same smile that made the Englishman look far older and wiser than he actually was, though it was much softer than its predecessor was; happier, bathed in the lull of sleepiness, and tinted with another emotion he was unable to place. "When you walked in here, you kind of…scared me. You were quiet and sad even though I was right here, and I was worried about you."
"S-sorry about that," Alfred apologized, guilt eating at his senses. He had scared him? Caused him to worry? But he said he was glad, so what was the problem? "I-I was just thinking, like I said before."
"I know." Arthur gazed back at him, and the world seemed to dull in comparison. While he had seen that strange smile a handful of times, it was with him staring into space. He had never been on the receiving end of that look, before.
It was…beautiful.
He yawned again, his eyelashes fluttering against his skin as he closed his eyes. "I'm very glad that I can still make you smile."
Alfred's eyes grew wide behind his glasses as he continued to stare at the male, even though it was obvious he was in a medicine-induced sleep. He couldn't stop himself from observing the Brit's relaxed features, from the gentle rise and fall of his chest to the lethargic grin residing against his expression and pulling at the American's heartstrings. All the while, his mind kept playing that last sentence throughout his brain like a record player stuck on repeat:
"I'm very glad that I can still make you smile."
He couldn't even begin to describe the warm sensation blooming in his chest, causing his pulse to thunder in his wrists and his blood to pound in his ears. It felt like the thing he'd experienced back at the Bow Bridge, when it was sunset and everything was so comforting and he almost-
Alfred must have caught Arthur's fever for feeling these bizarre bouts of conflicting emotion, for feeling this bizarre blur between his wants and needs, for these contradictions between his mind and heart.
Alfred most likely caught Arthur's fever; that would be the only explanation for him leaning down and kissing him in his sleep.
Author's Note: Heh. There's some USUK action for you lovely readers of mine, consider this a late Valentine's Day gift from me~! Sorry this chapter's a bit late, I wanted to update it earlier because you guys had a lot of positive reviews for the last chapter, but I decided to (attempt to) update it on Valentine's Day as it'd be the 14th chapter on the 14th of February, but…yeah, it took MUCH longer to type, so I apologize in regards to that. I also apologize in regards to any/all OOC-ness of these characters in this chapter, and any hastily/badly written parts in this chapter. I had serious Writer's Block, but I'll try to make the next chapter better and I'll try to update soon. Anyone notice the subtle (*coughs* not) Dodgeball reference?
Surprisingly, there weren't any bloopers for this chapter (*AUDIBLE GASP*), so I also apologize in regards to that. Big shout-outs to meapzilla2mouse, FabulousIzaya, HiItsUriChan, Maya5392, Miyagino 'Mikura' Asakura, Milk of Awesomeness, Harrenwolf, and Queenofanimeandstuff for all of your kind words. All of your feedback means a lot to me.
…Anyone else feel like these chapters (and author's notes) are getting longer? If so, I apologize for that, I just have a lot to type. Anyway, I apologize for the badness/hastiness of this chapter and for the lateness, though I hope you appreciated this (definitely unique) chapter as a late Valentine's gift~! I'll try to update soon with chapter 15 (IT'S BEEN A MONTH AND FIFTEEN DAYS SINCE THIS THING WAS PUBLISHED AND WE'VE GOTTEN SO FAR; OH MY GOD, YES). Please favorite/follow at your leisure as I'd like for you all to continue on this journey with me, and don't be afraid to leave a review if you'd like (whether positive or negative, as I appreciate constructive criticism) as my heart does a little jump whenever someone comments on my work and you'll probably get a reply from me~!
Until then? Stay awesome.