Arthur stared down at the slightly-crumpled paper he'd been writing on, looking more closely at the shapes of the words that the words themselves. They were almost meaningless, anyway, what did it truly matter what they said? Just worthless scribbles on paper.

He stared down at his small, cramped handwriting, wondering why he'd been writing in the first place. To organize his thoughts, he guessed, or to just get all these useless thoughts out of his system. There was barely anything there, except a small T-chart and a small drawing in the corner of the page. He looked over the chart, scowling.

'Here' and 'home'.

One list stretched down the whole page, his miniscule handwriting getting smaller and smaller as it neared the bottom margin of the notebook paper. The view, the people, truly being an Angel again, flight, beating up Francis, he could list a million things that he missed about his home, his real home. His home had been perfect. His home had quite literally been Heaven.

The other side had only three words. Alfred F. Jones.

Obviously, going home won. It won hands down. It wasn't even a contest. He'd been trying to get home for years, why would one stupid name change that?

He shook his head angrily, tearing the paper out of his notebook. But before he could crumple it into a ball, his eye fell on the small doodle in the corner of the page. Just a small, goofy grin and a pair of glasses, and a messy hairdo and bright blue eyes…

"Yo dude!"

Arthur almost screamed, crushing the paper in his hand and shoving it into his backpack. "Damn it, Alfred," he snapped angrily, wheeling around to glare at his friend. "Why the bloody hell do you insist on sneaking up on me like that?"

"U-Um…" Alfred sat there for a moment, looking nervous. "Sorry man, I was just, um…" He paused, thinking. "No I was just…um, you got a map?"

Arthur stared at him. "…a map?" He questioned slowly.

"Y'know, 'cause I keep…I mean I…your eyes…are…um…" Alfred mumbled, squirming under Arthur's confused scrutiny, trying to remember what he was supposed to say. "…shit wait, that's not right."

Arthur continued to stare, unsure of what Alfred was talking about. "What on earth do you need a map for?" He asked. "Do you need a GPS, my phone might have something you could use…"

"N-No, I just, um…" Alfred grimaced, looking over his shoulder. Gilbert and Antonio were mouthing something at him. He perked up slightly. "Oh, oh, hey Artie, are you a veterinarian?" He asked, wheeling back around.

"What the—when the hell did all of those morons get there?" Arthur asked, looking over Alfred's shoulder, becoming more and more perplexed by the second.

"'Cause I got a pretty sick python right here," Alfred continued, laughing.

"What? No, seriously, Alfred, what the hell is going on, is there something happening over there?" Arthur leaned forward, completely ignoring Alfred, and called, "Hey Beilschmidt, what exactly are all of you doing?"

"We weren't doing anything," Gilbert replied with that insolent smirk that always seemed plastered to his face. "What were you doing over there? Writing poetry?"

"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Arthur snapped back, shoving the paper deeper into his bag and praying that his face wasn't as red as he thought it was.

"Hmm, well I seem to be on the right track…kesese…"

"I'm not writing poetry!" Arthur protested. "I was…doing homework!"

Antonio snickered slightly. Feliciano chimed in, "Ve~ I think poetry is funny!" He squeaked slightly when Arthur glared at him, and ducked behind his brother, who decided that Ludwig would make a fairly decent human-meat-shield and ducked behind him.

Alfred was glaring at Arthur, even if he didn't notice him. "Yo. Artie. Hey, dude! Arthur!" He sighed, trying to think of another line. He thought of a good one and grinned. "Hey Arthur, did it hurt?"

Arthur shut his eyes, groaning slightly. What the hell was Alfred doing? Pick-up lines? What the hell sort of convoluted joke was he trying to pull? "Did what hurt?" He muttered, turning to scowl at the boy sitting next to him.

"Falling from heaven!"

Arthur felt his stomach lurch, freezing in place. Alfred sat there, grinning at him, as if he'd just spouted something clever. Arthur stared back at him for a minute, startled, and Alfred's grin eventually faded. "Um, Artie?" He asked worriedly, poking his arm.

Arthur shook his head. "E-Erm, sorry, I, uh…" He shook his head. "Alfred, cut it out, I'm not in the mood for jokes."

Alfred paused. "Uh, w-what, you don't like my pick-up lines?" He asked, giving a weak laugh.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "No, I don't," he replied with a sigh, "and I highly doubt any women you would try to pick up would be all too charmed either."

Alfred sat there. "Um, what do you mean by 'pick up women'?"

Arthur glared at him. "Well, you certainly don't use those sorts of lines on people you know."

"You…you don't?" He asked, beginning to look vaguely mortified, shrinking in his seat.

"Of course you don't. Who on earth told you otherwise?"

Alfred paused, glaring back at the group of people behind him. Gilbert and Antonio waved, the Vargas brothers ducked, and Ludwig turned toward his brother and whispered furiously, "W-Wait, you're not, why the hell did you tell me that?"

Arthur almost laughed at the look on Alfred's face. "Who on earth were you planning on picking up with those awful pick-up lines anyway?"

Alfred stiffened. "What? Dude, who said I was trying to ask anyone out why would I do that I am a lone shark I don't need a boy—girlfriend, I said girlfriend, man I think I ate something weird this morning." He turned away, cursing under his breath.

Arthur (who couldn't understand a word of that because Alfred was talking much too fast) raised an eyebrow skeptically. "So, who is the 'lucky' lady you're planning on asking out?" He asked again smugly. He thought for a second. "Really, do you even know any girls?"

"I-I know a couple," he stammered back defensively, crossing his arms.

"Oh really? Name one."

Alfred paused, thinking. Then he said, "Well there's a girl named Natalya who sits next to me in Algebra!"

Arthur blinked at him. Then he lost it, suddenly laughing hard enough to need to bury his face in his hands. Alfred jumped slightly, surprised. "W-Whoa, Artie, you okay—?"

"That's Ivan's insane sister, isn't it? And what, you're planning on asking her out?" He laughed, grabbing weakly at his sides. "Am I invited to your funeral? Should I prepare a eulogy? Ahem, 'Here lies Alfred F. Jones, gone too early with a pipe shoved up his arse!'" He started laughing harder, for some reason finding himself unable to stop.

"Dude, it's not even funny. Arthur, stop. Dude. Yo, seriously, cut it out." Alfred sighed, rolling his eyes. "You know what, never mind." He turned away and scooted two chairs over toward the others, all of whom had begun whispering (two were laughing, but you can guess who those two were).

Arthur managed to compose himself fairly quickly once Alfred had moved away from him. He took a deep breath, looking over toward the group that had invaded his table. They were all whispering to each other, glancing up at him momentarily (although Lovino refused to take part in any way shape or form and just sort of flipped him off from a safe distance).

Arthur rolled his eyes, still chuckling to himself. He still found the thought of Alfred asking Natalya out extremely amusing. And somehow, he felt oddly relieved. He wasn't sure why. Really, he wasn't. Why would he be happy if his best friend was going to ask out some girl who was certain to say no? He should be unhappy about that.

He sighed, shaking his head. Really, now, stop feeling so smug about it, he told himself, turning back in his seat. You should be happy for the idiot. He sent another glance toward the kid, still whispering with the others, his face set with this new, oddly-determined scowl.

It wouldn't matter who the moron dated, Arthur would never see him again. Arthur would find the demon, and then he'd finally go home. Alfred would continue with his life. He'd forget about Arthur. He'd probably grow up and have a family and live a normal sort of existence. Arthur was sure he would make something of his life, become someone famous and respected and loved. The fact that Alfred had met him fleetingly in his youth would mean absolutely nothing to him. To both of them.

To both of them… Now why didn't that statement feel right? He sighed, letting his exhausted eyes fall shut.

…

"Dude, guys, this isn't working at all!"

"Maybe you're doing it wrong?"

"Shut it, Tonio, he's doing it fine, he just needs to be a little more awesome."

"Ve~ try giving him puppy eyes!"

"Try not being a dumbass."

Alfred groaned at their useless comments, scowling toward all of them (especially Lovino, who seemed content glowering back at everyone). "Guys, I really don't think you're helping at all," he told them. "Could you go away for a bit?"

"Nein, no way, now that the bet's over, you losers are way more interesting!" Before that statement could completely sink in, Gilbert had grabbed Alfred's chair and pulled it around so it was facing Arthur. "Okay, so those pick-up lines didn't work. We gotta try something else, ja?"

"Make up poetry!" Antonio suggested, laughing. "He's always writing that stuff in his little unicorn binder of his, sí?"

Alfred scowled over at them as they started to snicker. "First off, I don't really do poems," he told them. "Second, drop the unicorn jokes." He looked toward Arthur. "Besides, that sounds lame. Who wants to hear people pulling rhymes out their asses?"

Antonio shrugged. "Francis told me women liked that romantic poetry stuff," he commented offhandedly.

"…Francis?" Alfred looked over at him, frowning. "That one creepy weirdo with the beard?"

Both of their smiles disappeared. "…you know him?" Antonio asked slowly, looking confused.

Alfred shrugged. "Uh yeah, he was being all creepy toward Artie the other day. Why?"

"Wait, wait," Gilbert shook his head, "you mean, he was here?" He looked angry, much to Alfred's surprise. "Like, here in the city?"

Alfred looked from one to the other. "What do you mean?"

Antonio glanced at Gilbert. "Um, well Francis moved back to France a couple of years ago and hasn't really answered any of our calls or anything…or talked to us at all…we were wondering if something had happened to—"

"That arschloch didn't even think to say hi to us?" Gilbert said indignantly, looking angrier by the second. "What the hell!" He scowled, his glare focusing on Antonio and Alfred and eventually settling the table. "You know what, France can keep that asshole! I don't give a shit!"

"Haha, hey you kind of make it sound like France is a person!"

"What? Shut up Antonio, countries can't be people, that's dumb."

Alfred narrowed his eyes and glanced toward Arthur. So some guy came all the way from France to flirt with Arthur? What the hell was that about? "Um, hey, did Arthur and Francis ever…" He paused, scratching the back of his neck. "Were they dating or something?"

Gilbert had gone quiet, brooding in his chair, so Antonio spoke up. "Um, I don't think so. I mean, mi amigo Francis dated lots of people! But he flirted a lot with Arthur as a joke too." He laughed to himself. "But I don't think Arthur liked him back all that much."

"Good…" Alfred murmured, more to himself than anyone, looking back over at Arthur. Wondering in the back of him mind if Arthur had liked that guy back. Feeling his stomach churning once again. Why did he care? Ugh, damn human stomach thing…

Arthur had his eyes closed again. He seemed to do that a lot, when he was thinking. Alfred looked closely at him. Then he sighed softly. "You're confident on this poetry crap?" He questioned one more time.

"Sí, of course!" Antonio answered brightly. The group behind him all nodded encouragingly. (Well it depends on your definition of 'encouragingly' to be honest, so just pretend for a moment that Lovino wasn't ignoring them and Ludwig didn't have his face buried in a How To book on relationships.)

With that, Alfred swallowed and slipped back over toward his friend. Getting a Boyfriend, Take 2.

"Yo Artie."

Arthur jumped again, sending Alfred an annoyed glare. "Alfred, what did we just talk about?" He snapped. "You're going to give me a heart attack."

"Um…sorry, I just wanted to ask about, um…" Alfred shut his eyes. "You like…poetry?" He asked.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" He narrowed his eyes, looking over toward Antonio. "Just what the hell have those morons been telling you? Whatever it is I can assure you—"

"No no I just…no, we're not making fun of…dude stop it!" Alfred elbowed him until he stopped glaring at the Spaniard. "I meant like…l-like, um, do girls like poetry and stuff?"

Arthur blinked. Then he smirked slightly. "You're still thinking about that?" He asked, sniggering.

"Yeah yeah, I get it, it's funny, do girls like poetry?"

Rolling his eyes, Arthur muttered, "Why would I know what girls like? Do I look like a girl? And just letting you know, if you say yes I will murder you in your sleep." He turned toward him, rubbing tiredly at his eye. "Alright, what exactly do you have?"

"Huh?"

Arthur scowled. "Poetry, moron. You just said something about poetry. You have something mind mind, right?"

"O-Oh, right! Um…" Alfred cleared his throat, racking his brain. "Roses are red…violets are blue…flowers are cool, and so are you."

Arthur stared blankly at him. "…you're…joking, right…?" he mumbled.

Alfred cringed slightly, feeling his face warming. "I-I, um…" He looked toward the floor. "Never mind, poetry sucks," he mumbled quickly.

Arthur started laughing slightly. "Oh come off it, it wasn't…" He patted Alfred's arm, still chuckling. "Don't get me wrong, it wasn't good, but I'm sure there are plenty of girls that would think it was cute."

"…really?" Alfred asked, looking up hopefully.

"Of course," he responded. "Although I highly doubt they would appreciate the word 'cool'. Doesn't quite have that sort of romantic feel to it now does it? Isn't there some other description you could think of?"

"Like…badass?"

Arthur face-palmed. "Alfred, have you ever talked to a girl?" He asked dryly.

"Yeah, Natalya threatened to kill me when I asked her for a pencil."

"Oh yes, how very feminine of her." Arthur sighed. "I meant something akin to pretty, or kind, or just something along those lines. Poetry is supposed to mean something. Here, try this, close your eyes for a moment. Picture her in your head."

Alfred did as he was told (although all things considered, it made very little difference).

"Alright, good," Arthur continued, "now just try to think of a word to describe her. Something you like about her. Something meaningful."

The first word that popped into his head was male. He suddenly snorted, turning away quickly to hide his laughter from Arthur. Arthur glared at him. "What is so funny?"

Alfred turned back toward him, trying to force his laugher back, trying to think of something he could say. He looked up at the boy he'd been picturing in his head a moment ago, his eyes meeting those emeralds looking back at him. Another word came to his mind.

"Perfect," he replied.

There was a pause. Arthur blinked, staring back in confusion. After a moment, he glanced away uncomfortably, face reddening slightly. "Ah, right," he mumbled softly. "I'm sure…I'm sure she'd like that," he finished, eyes focusing on the far wall.

Alfred nodded slowly. "Yeah, you'd think," he agreed quietly. His heartbeat had gotten faster and louder in the past few seconds. With a deep breath, he leaned forward slightly, wondering if Arthur could hear it too. "H-Hey Arthur—"

RIIIIIIIIIIING

Arthur almost jumped a foot in the air, his arm hitting Alfred squarely in the jaw. "A-Ack! O-Oh, sorry Alfred," he stammered, quickly climbing to his feet. "I-I should get going I need to get to calculus, um, see you at gym."

"W-Wait Artie do you wanna be my boyfr—"

And Arthur was out the door.

There was a long silence as Alfred sat there, mouth still open. Then Antonio spoke up. "So was that a no?" Alfred just groaned.

Guess who's back? That's right. This weirdo. Right here. Back from the abyss. Although I am no longer Gandalf the Grey. I am...I am just really tired.

So tired I almost accidentally uploaded my Spanish paper. Although I'm sure all of you are interested about the culture of Cuba. But this is probably more interesting to read, especially if you don't read fluent Spanish.

I really should stop writing these things at the bottom.