A/N: This is the next apology chapter. Please forgive me for my laziness!

Chapter 25

K.H.

He heard Pochi barking manically at the front door. Groaning, he rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to block out the sound. It was a weekend and, more importantly, his birthday, so a little lie in was all he could ask for. It seemed the postman had military standards, though because he was already getting dressed by the time his mother answered the door with a friendly tone to her voice.

Kiku wasn't sure why the postman would come so early, but he then had to question whether he was just waking up late. Drawing his red tracksuit on, he opened the door of his room just as his mother was reaching to knock. They both blinked in surprise, before she smiled and stepped aside.

"Good morning," she said. "You have some special guests."

At first, Kiku couldn't quite understand what 'special guests' could be visiting on the weekend of his birthday, but then his mind started whirring into action. It only made sense that it would be Ludwig and Fel. After all, the day of Ludwig's birthday had had a similar schedule, with two friends waking the birthday friend up early in the morning to do something exciting. If he was thinking on the right lines, then Fel and Ludwig would be downstairs awaiting him. Depending on what they were doing, there was a chance he would need to change his outfit to either fit the occasion or to make himself look more presentable.

He nodded to his mother and trudged downstairs, catching sight of the pair of them seated at the kitchen table. It was a nice, familiar sight to see them, ready for the day in their normal clothes. He could only wonder what they potentially had planned for him.

"Morning, Kiku," Fel beamed. "We're going out to the city today, just to let you know."

"Then I shall make myself a little more presentable," Kiku decided, and hurried back upstairs.

His hair didn't take long, because it never did, and it was very simple to change into neat pressed jeans and a hoodie. His friends were waiting ever so patiently for him when he arrived back downstairs less than five minutes later. He could tell Fel was excited about something with the way he bounced on the balls of his feet in his anticipation.

"Let's go," his Italian friend grinned, and handed him a train ticket.

Kiku glanced at it without thinking much of it, and the destination within the city meant very little to him. However, his two friends were rearing to go, so he didn't waste any more time getting out of the house. He waved goodbye to his mother and Pochi as he followed his friends down the drive.

A.J.

He had been woken some time ago by his mum telling him his family were going out and that he was free to come if he was up. It was a weekend, and Alfred wasn't one for getting up early on a weekend. So, his response had been to drift back to sleep and completely forget about the presence of his family. It was blissful ignorance, whilst it lasted.

He heard a knocking at the door in the distant realm of reality. Unfolding the layers of sleep, he blinked back his tiredness and laid in bed for a bit, listening to the doorbell sound. Turning his head to the side, he wondered who would be knocking at this time on a Saturday. He yawned, and sat up, and after another five minutes, the doorbell went off again.

Whoever it was seemed oddly determined to get into the house. Alfred pushed the covers aside and searched around for something to throw on whilst he could sign any parcels. Silence followed, so he assumed the package had probably been passed over to the neighbours. He pulled on a hoodie and a pair of jeans that were screwed up on the floor before tiredly tromping down the stairs. Rubbing his eyes, he pushed open the door and was surprised to find Natalya standing at the doorway, shivering. She turned as the door opened, brows knitting together and teeth chattering from the cold, her hair tied up to keep it out of her face from the wailing winds.

Alfred's heart thumped and he suddenly wondered whether he looked presentable.

"You just got up," she commented. "I thought I'd be waiting out here for hours. Is there no responsible being at home?"

"What are you doing here?" the words tumbled out of his mouth, more of a relieved question rather than an accusation.

"Are you going to let me in first?" she asked, rubbing her arms. "It's cold out here."

"Oh, right, sorry," he flung the door open wide and stepped aside as she stamped her feet on the mat and walked in through the door.

Closing the door, he was relieved that no more cold air seeped in through the open entrance. He was sure the last he'd properly seen Natalya was when Ivan had been threatening to kill him if he went near her again, and that had been about a week ago. Now she was suddenly at his house.

"Drink?" he offered.

"Hot chocolate," she replied, pulling off her shoes, and setting them on the rack.

She was very neat compared to him.

"Got it," he hurried into the kitchen and hastily set about making two hot chocolates.

Her footsteps alerted him to her entering the kitchen.

"So… what are you doing here?" he asked, trying to keep things casual, even though he was quite nervous.

Had Ivan driven her here? That seemed very unlikely, given the previous circumstances.

"You sound like you don't want me here, despite my efforts," she sounded a little miffed.

He turned to dare a look towards her. "No, dude, I'm cool you dropped by. You need to know something about Year Thirteen?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Where do we stand?"

Alfred's heart thumped in his chest. Should he thrown on the dumb act and act like he was oblivious, or should he own up to his sins and try and work things out with her? He knew the whole 'mates before dates' motto, but had Ivan really been a mate when he'd kissed Natalya? Not really. Was he behaving this way because, deep down, he quite liked the idea of Ivan being his friend again?

But he liked Natalya. He'd never felt this way about a girl before, and every time they were alone, like this, he felt his pulse race and his brain became scrambled, unable to determine a proper sentence. Even now, he was fidgeting over drinks, desperately wondering how he should react towards her. She made him nervous. Where did they stand? He wanted them to stand somewhere, but a broken neck didn't particularly appeal to him.

He decided to play it cool and go with neither initial option. "I didn't know you knew my address."

"Francis told me," she replied shamelessly.

Of course Francis told you, Alfred thought bitterly. Francis was always trying to shit stir.

"Oh, ok," he said, adding hot water to the chocolate granules, and then mixing with a spoon – stirring. Ironic.

"Look, I came here just so I knew what was between us, but if there's nothing, I'll be going," she said.

Alfred tensed and glanced over his shoulder at her, but she wouldn't meet his eye. In no way did he want to upset her about something like this.

"I don't want to be chasing after a guy who's not interested," she sounded suddenly bitter, and he could see her jaw tighten.

"I… am," he said lamely.

"Really?" she glared at him. "You could've fooled me. Make up your mind, Alfred. I've come round for a simple answer whilst Ivan's never going to find out, because he's at some lame cooking class with those other two, and none of your family is here, which is actually convenient."

Alfred's pulse jumped. "Natalya…"

"Not that you idiot," she gave him an incredulous look. "Geez, I just meant there was no one here to overhear the conversation and make things more awkward than they already are."

He had to beat back disappointment. Of course, they had had one kiss. Nothing like that was going to happen between them in the space of a week. Besides, Francis, the relationship guru, would probably advise him to take things slow anyway, and he could see where he was coming from.

"Am I just a plaything, then?" the bitterness returned to her tone.

"No, you're not," he ran his hands through his hair. "Just… hang on."

He placed the mugs on the table and stood across, facing her.

"There's no milk in these," she said.

"Right," he opened the fridge and grabbed the full fat milk. "Forgot."

He dumped a considerable amount in each one, filling it to the rim, then slung the milk back into the fridge. She was idly stirring the one closest to her by the time he turned back round.

"So…" she said, and he realised just how awkward this had become.

He didn't know how to say it now that he was supposed to. Instead, he skirted round the table, which was clearly acting as a by-standing obstacle, and pulled her into a hug. There was just something about being close to someone that Alfred found was far more comforting than anything else.

"I didn't mean to give you mixed messages," Alfred admitted. "I… I still want to… talk to you?"

Her shoulders shook a little.

"Don't cry…" he stressed.

"I'm not crying," she said. "I'm laughing at you."

"Laughing," he took a step back and saw she wore a smile on her face. "What for?"

"Talking?" she chuckled. "Really? You still want to talk to me?"

"OK," he rolled his eyes, then dropped his forehead gently to hers. "I still want to date."

"Date?" she blinked.

"Boyfriend? Girlfriend?" this time he was laughing.

"I know what you mean," she lightly punched his arm. "I was just stunned at your awful way of asking."

"Is that a yes?" he smiled.

"It's a 'maybe' whilst I drink my hot chocolate before it gets cold," she replied, reaching past him to the table and lifting her mug.

A.K.

It was the weekend, and also a Saturday, which meant he didn't feel obliged to do anything. He was watching TV like he usually did, some kind of daytime telly where he could see and ridicule the lives of people who were less than him. Peter was playing his game to one side of the room, a wide smile on his face as his fingers crossed over the buttons. Somehow, Arthur had come to appreciate his brother's peacefulness now that he aware of the situation he kept bottled up. How long had this been going on for? How long had he been completely unaware of his brother's problems?

Just then, their father walked into the room with a stony expression on his face, followed by their mother, who wore a tight frown. Arthur knew that the entire family being in the same room without a meal set down before them was probably a bad sign.

"Arthur, we need to speak," his father said, folding his arms.

That was even worse news. Rarely did he get in trouble nowadays. Standing awkwardly, he set the remote down and left the morons on TV to their drama, whilst he followed his parents into the kitchen, Peter watching them leave, wide eyed.

"What is it?" he asked nervously, because one should always be weary when your parents are angry without an explanation.

"Answer me truthfully," his father said. "Have you been taking drink out of the cabinet?"

He gestured to the high cupboards, the grave expression still on his face.

Arthur had no recollection of doing so. "I don't think so, no."

He had been sober this entire year so far, so that was both an achievement and an explanation that he hadn't touched the drink.

His father's brows furrowed as he scrutinised him. Something in Arthur's brain clicked. That weekend when Peter had been moving chairs. Why would his brother be taking alcohol when going out with Raivis? Arthur would need to speak to him about this. Perhaps it was to do with the problem Peter was facing at school? Either way, he couldn't load more issues onto his little brother's back. Some part of him felt that, by telling his parents, he would be betraying Peter's secret, but also adding fuel to the fire against the bullies. They went to different schools. As no one monitored their interactions with one another, there was very little anyone could do to prevent them finding Peter outside of school.

"Oh, wait," he said, and watched his parents' attention swing back to him. "There might've been this time when I was at a friend's party – Feliks."

It was safe to use that name – his parents would be less vicious towards a distant friend.

"And, um… I might've taken some," he said.

"Might have?" his mother said.

"I wasn't entirely sober," he lied.

"Right," his father sighed.

"Thank you for telling us," she looked disappointed. "But don't do it again, Arthur. At least get permission before taking alcohol from the house."

Arthur nodded solemnly, silently praising himself for being one of the greatest brothers to exist. As he wandered back into the lounge after a light punishment of scolding and a ban from drinking for the next week or so (which wasn't too much of a problem), he saw Peter looking at him with wide eyes. His little brother hastily reverted his gaze back to his game, but the small frown on his face implied he wasn't entirely focused on what was happening.

Their parents were just in the other room, so Arthur decided to let it go. He plopped himself back down on the sofa and continued to watch the overtly dramatic lives of other people.

A/N: Arthur is a brilliant brother. The next chapter will be posted in another few minutes!