Regular font indicates the present.
Italic font indicates flashbacking or dreaming; whether it's a flashback or a dream will be clarified.
Bold italic font indicates thought.
Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.
Arthur was sure that he would end up in bed with another cold by the time the day was over. He was certain of it.
The storm hadn't diminished, to say the least. If anything, it seemed to have increased in its intensity, as if to contradict Alfred's previous assumption that the weather would let up after an hour or two. The rain felt more like bullets than liquid against his skin, the winds had nearly uprooted several trees and lamp posts, and the lightning sent him jumping in his pace behind Alfred with every split-second of brightness followed by a deafening 'BOOM'.
It was essentially the equivalent of Mother Nature giving the middle finger.
Bloody brilliant, the Brit managed to think as he pushed his body a little further along down the sidewalk of the (now abandoned) Times Square, trying to maneuver his weight properly to prevent himself from slipping. He and Alfred had been running for about ten minutes, starting when they noticed the weather was getting worse and decided to abandon their spot beside The Lake in Central Park, and, while he had been getting considerably better at forcing himself to run (what with the nonsense he had to deal with while masquerading as England), his breath was coming out in shallow pants with every second he spent propelling himself forward when he was chilled to the bone and really tempted to collapse onto the pavement. First fate, now Mother Nature is out to get me? Did I do something wrong in a past life to deserve such disdain from omnipotent beings?
Much like his strong belief that he would wake up with a high temperature the coming morning, Arthur was certain of it.
"Alfred!" Arthur managed to shout above the rain, wind, and thunder, following closely behind the American while keeping his movements quick. He was beginning to feel rather lightheaded due to the adrenaline pulsing through his veins and the worrying status of his legs, which felt like someone had hastily duct-taped anvils onto his pelvis and sent him clobbering down a narrow runway. "Do you have any idea where you're going?"
"I know a place where we can crash for the night!" Alfred hollered in reply, the Englishman cringing when realizing the bespectacled blond's current volume wasn't all that different from his normal one. Frankly, it was a remarkable that neither of them had gone deaf, Arthur in the seventeen years he had known him, Alfred in the twenty-one (Almost twenty-two, the Briton thought with a look of surprise dawning on his features) years he had been alive. "A friend of mine owns a hotel on this street, so we can head there until this storm blows over!"
"That sounds like a good idea, Alfred!" Arthur yelled, biting the inside of his cheek as he had to grab ahold of the American's hand to stop himself from skittering across the slick surface of the sidewalk, his cheeks (already a deep shade of pink from the physical exertion) blooming into a light shade of red at the contact. "A stretch for you, I'm sure!"
A bark of laughter escaped the tall male in front of him. "Yeah, I get that a lot!"
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Kiku didn't realize it was storming outside until the soft, warm glow of his bedside lamp abruptly shut off and left him in darkness.
He blinked a few times to register what happened, glancing around warily as he set his laptop to the side and grabbed his phone, slipping out of bed to see if the rest of the apartment had lost power. He turned up the brightness of his phone to help light his way, his senses heightened as this sort of scenario was commonplace in both American and Japanese horror movies. The main protagonist would be lounging peacefully without a care in the world until BAM—the lights go out thanks to a thunderstorm plaguing the outside, forcing the protagonist to leave their literal and figurative comfort zone to find a source of light.
While Kiku wasn't as startled by horror movies as much as, say, Alfred, he still had seen some downright terrifying shit that was enough to make his nerves resemble a ball of wire at the concept of leaving his room during a storm/blackout. Slowly, as if expecting the Grudge to be standing on the other side, he opened the door and peered out into the unknown lurking beyond his bedroom.
After a moment of internal debating (he figured he stood a good chance against the Grudge, as he was as deadly with his hands and feet as he was with his shuriken and katana), he opened the door even further and used his free hand to test the light switch situated on the wall, a small grimace etching itself onto his angular features when his suspicions were confirmed. The storm outside was powerful enough to take down the power for the dormitory, quite possibly for the entire dorm complex as it was unlikely all the other inhabitants possessed generators.
He swallowed as he ventured out into the hall, using his phone to guide his way through the blackness of the residence. Right now, his top priority was getting ahold of a better source of light, as he didn't want to use up the battery on his phone when it could be used for emergencies as opposed to letting him see up to two inches in front of his face.
The brunette swallowed as he continued taking quiet, balanced steps to prevent himself from tripping over uneven carpeting. His brown eyes darted across the vacant living room as he tried assessing where the candles were located, eventually coming across them when he wandered into the kitchen and stuck a hand into the pantry. After a second of fumbling with opening the box (he still had a difficult time using his right hand, as it was still healing after being shot by Department Chief Zwingli two days ago), he found a match and struck it on its side, sending sparks shooting across the air for an instant and setting the thin stick aflame.
I hope Arthur-san and Alfred-san are alright, Kiku thought as he maneuvered his way back to the main living room, his dark eyes looking lifeless and his figure gaunt in the flicker of the flame. I haven't received any phone calls from them at all.
He nearly bit his lip to prevent himself from screaming when he heard his phone suddenly go off, 'Enamel' by Sid almost making his life flash before his eyes as it was downright terrifying to be engulfed in darkness during a power-outage only to hear electric guitars and 'Azatoi, KISU wa iranai, fukujuu wo meijiyou' suddenly ramming into the silence with a jackhammer.
"I need to change my ringtone." He wheezed, rubbing where his heart was located in his chest with a weary expression on his face. He inhaled and exhaled a few times to steady his pulse, his cheekbones appearing slightly hollow in the luminescence of his iphone. A glance to his caller I.D made him stop in his motions, the name Unknown Caller catching his eye and resulting in a sigh of relief escaping his lips.
It had been several hours since Arthur had taken Alfred out of the dorm for the purpose of allowing Kiku to administer his duties as 'Japan', all under the guise of pursuing some 'oh-so-important' doses vitamin D. Since then, the Briton hadn't communicated with the Japanese in any way, shape, or form. While Kiku knew that it was logical for Arthur to refrain from contacting him while he was supposed to be keeping Alfred distracted, it was still unnerving knowing that his roommate/partner-in-crime was out in the open where he could be ambushed by potential enemies at any given time. Though it was unlikely that such things could happen when Alfred was around, so that was another load off Kiku's conscience. Regardless, it made sense that the Englishman's caller I.D wouldn't register on his phone; he was probably staying the evening at some form of hotel to keep shelter from the rain, therefore requiring him to use an bedside telephone with a wire as he probably used up too much battery power on his iphone.
With that in mind, he used his index finger to unlock the phone, accepting the call and holding the device to his ear. "Yokatta," he began, readjusting his grip on the box of matches in his other hand. "I was worried something happened to you."
"It warms my heart to hear you were worried about me."
Kiku dropped the box of matches at the sound of that voice. That familiar voice that drove his skull apart with paranoia and ground his nerves like a cheese shredder.
No.
No, no, no, NO, NO-!
"It has been so long since we've spoken like this," The voice continued on, as if oblivious to how wide the Japanese's eyes grew and how cold his blood had become. As if completely unaware of the multiple theories running through the Asian's mind and rendering him mute. But Kiku could tell that the speaker was well-aware of his plight. Very well-aware, as a matter-of-fact. "It doesn't cease to amaze me how quickly time flies when one is like a busy worker bee."
Oh God, he dwelled with a sickening drop of his stomach, his hands clammy and twitching faintly at his sides. How could they have gotten ahold of this number?! I made sure to give the information sparingly to prevent others from tracing this location and finding out where we live! This—this isn't good, this really isn't good at all-!
"You're fully aware of how much I hate being kept in the dark, are you not?"
That voice brought him out of his thoughts with his consciousness kicking and screaming.
He swallowed thickly, managing to recover his voice. "I-I am," he replied, ignoring his stutter and the slight waver in his octave. He coughed into his hand to clear his throat better. "I am aware of such things. Yes; I apologize. However, as you mentioned, it's easy to lose track of time when occupied by things of varying importance."
A snort of amusement could be heard on the other end. "I wish you wouldn't speak so stiff and formally to me all of the time. It hurts when you act so distrustful, especially taking into consideration all I have done for you."
You make yourself sound like a martyr. He noted internally, a frown etched onto his angular cheekbones. They…they managed to access his information, didn't they? How else would they have been able to get his phone number, if he kept it under tight secrecy with the phone company and close friends? Was it possible that this person was the same person responsible for hacking his computer during the Triple Theft two days ago?! Though wait, he had to be careful. In the instance this was somehow a proxy sent in…he had to make sure they knew what he was talking about. How disgusting.
"How do I know you're not an imposter?" Kiku interrogated, his eyes narrowing as he tried narrowing down possible suspects for proxies. "It's not unheard of for there to be holes in the most well-woven of fabrics."
"Because this is all to help the one you love."
The Japanese's breath caught in his throat, shivers caressing Kiku's spine with cold, cold hands and a grip that paralyzed him, wrapping around him as a spider would wrap its prey in silk before drinking its blood.
A soft sigh escaped him when allowing a brief period of time to recollect the fragments of his scattered thoughts. Although it wasn't by any means an easy task, he gathered up the fragments and stapled them together as best as he could, and managed a smirk.
"So, you figured out my phone number and where I live," he confessed with a shrug of his shoulders. "Will you kill me?"
"Of course not. You're quite intelligent, and I wish to help you in your goal. In England's goal."
"What's your agenda?" He questioned, his insides churning as he picked up the box of matches and headed straight for his room, picking up his laptop and turning it on. "I have a hard time believing that all of what you did before was purely-"
"For England's benefit?"
The brunette bit his tongue until he feared the appendage would bleed. "Yes," he spoke steadily, not wanting to further deteriorate his poker face. "I have a hard time believing all of that."
"I wish you had more faith in me, 'Japan'," they confided, their tone unable to be registered as (just in case the call was being traced) they used voice modification software. "Yes, I hacked into your computer and traced your I.P address to the Museum of the City of New York, and gave that information to the NYPD while pretending to be America's sidekick, 'O', but I only went so far to make sure everything worked out in England's favor. While it initially appears that England's plan wasn't as successful as he intended for it to be, the steps that I took were necessary in ensuring England's victory in the long-run."
"So, what do you intend to do with knowing my phone number and where I likely live?" Kiku asked, mentally preparing himself so that he could begin conducting a thorough virus checkup on his computer. He knew that this person wasn't 'O'—but if they could fool the NYPD into believing they were 'O', he still wanted to keep his guard up around this person at all costs.
"Think of it this way;" the voice began, another flash of lightning making the room seem as bright as the day. "In the instance something—say, the police department manages to track down your location—occurs which requires you to move quickly. I have my men positioned around the building and ready to take down those who stand between you and vacating the premise. The same concept can apply to you wherever you go, as long as your cell phone is on and I can track your location down by using your number. Think of it as having a body guard, or, in this case, an estimated 200,000 guards in the Manhattan area alone who are ready to defend and attack at your every beck and call. Whereas England would refer to it as 'precaution', I refer to it as 'insurance'."
Russia hung up before Kiku could ask what he meant by that.
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"We're sorry; the number you're trying to contact is currently unavailable. If you would like to leave a voice mail-"
Arthur clicked his tongue in mild distaste before setting the wired phone back onto its holder. "That's odd," he remarked to himself as he finished drying his hair with a small hand-towel, droplets of rainwater dripping onto his damp (but not nearly as damp as it was earlier) red long sleeve in barely-noticeable amounts. "He usually answers when I call him."
Then again, it's probably due to the weather, he thought with an outward shrug as he stood up from where he previously sat on the edge of the bed, stretching lightly as he did so. It's still pretty hellish out there, so I'm not too surprised that I couldn't reach him. I hope he's alright, though.
The Briton walked over and peeked through the curtains just in time for a large bolt of lightning to rake across the sky, temporarily blinding him and convincing him that Mother Nature definitely had a score to settle with him for unbeknownst reasoning.
He and Alfred had arrived and checked in at the World Stars Inn less than half an hour ago, and yet the storm had somehow picked up even further. With the trees who were barely hanging on by their roots and the wind that made stereotypical 'WOOSH'ing sounds that could be heard beyond the thick walls and glass windows of the moderately-sized hotel room, Arthur (who, between himself and Alfred, was considered to have a better understanding of the English language in comparison to his American companion) could only describe the surreal scene with "Bullocks" and a low whistle.
"Still chaotic out there?" Alfred's voice wondered through the bathroom door, drawing the Englishman's attention away from the weather.
Arthur snorted lightly, closing the curtains. "Yes," he informed. "I'll need to thank Tino for allowing us to stay the evening."
"Tino's so freakin' badass," the American divulged. "Not just in letting us stay for free, but also that he makes the best chocolate-chip cookies ever, and if you give him a sniper rifle he can hit a needle from 300 feet away."
The Brit's forehead creased in slight puzzlement. "You sound like you've tried the latter statement."
"I have."
"Of course you have." Arthur drawled sarcastically, the beginnings of a small smile visible on his facial features. "Anyway, how much longer are you planning on taking in there? You've been holed up in that bathroom for about ten minutes!"
"It's my hair—it just won't dry properly!"
"You've got to be kidding me," the bushy-browed Briton sighed, holding the bridge of his nose to stem the beginnings of a migraine; while he loved the rain, they brought out his sinuses and made him prone to headaches, some of which could get very distracting/painful after a while. "You mean to say that you've been trapped in the lavatory for 1/3 of the time we've been here, all because your hair is retaining water? You're starting to sound like Francis."
"That teacher's aide you hated when you took French sophomore year?" Alfred recalled, moving around based on the fabric-rustle sounds protruding from behind the door.
"The very same." Arthur addressed, leaning a shoulder against the bathroom door as he inspected his nails to give his brain something to focus on.
"You should have stuck with Spanish, though I don't think that teacher's aide was fond of you, either."
"Yeah, no; Antonio didn't like me very much. I always beat him at Battleship, and the bloke always screamed for his armadAAHHH!"
Suddenly, it was an entanglement of limbs for the two blonds as Alfred deemed it appropriate for him to open the bathroom door, and was oblivious to the fact that Arthur rested a good portion of his weight against the article of wood.
A slew of grumbled (and colorful) curses escaped the males after a moment of silence dedicated to processing whatever the hell just happened.
"Ugh," the Englishman groaned, ignoring the dull pain in his forehead (he must have head-butted the American by accident—Alfred really was thick-skulled in more ways than one) in favor of propping himself up on his elbows so that he could get a good look at possible injuries. "Are you alright-"
The shorter blond then proceeded to profusely blush at the sight of his American companion, considering said American companion was currently pinned beneath him with blue jeans covering his lower-half and a towel behind his neck.
As in, he was not wearing a shirt.
As in, he was half-naked.
Good God, Fate definitely has it in for me.
Arthur blinked once. Then twice, before allowing his gaze to flicker downwards so that he could admire (for a brief instant, dammit!) how fit the American was. He couldn't help himself; for the first ten years of their friendship, Alfred had been like Arthur in that he was slim and gangly, but around the time he turned fifteen, he seemed to undergo physical changes that, at the time were subtle, but were now as clear as day. He had always been tall and lean, yet now he had defined abs and upper-body muscles that rippled beneath his sun-kissed skin with every fluctuation, the sight alone enough to make Arthur's head feel like it was full of helium and his blood (and guilt, can't forget guilt) pool in his stomach.
That guilt increased tenfold when his eyes scanned over the scars that still resided against Alfred's chest, his eyes half-lidded when seeing the one mark that stretched so long and so close to possibly killing the American. While he had grown more accustomed to those sights considering he had changed the bespectacled blond's bandages while he slept (as awkward conversations/awkward answers in relation to the wounds' origins would arise if he found out, and Alfred slept like the dead anyway), the emotions he would experience whenever he saw the injuries only grew stronger, taking the clay that was Arthur's heart and pounding it until it resembled a flimsy, flat circle.
Arthur lowered his head, his sandy-blond bangs obscuring his face.
I wish I could be strong enough. Strong enough to protect you from the things that made you this way.
He felt his nerves tug inwardly, coiling up into tight ball of wire. His hands contorted into fists and his gaze grew steely. What was stopping him from becoming stronger? What was restricting him from becoming more powerful? Was there something holding him back, preventing him from accessing his full potential? If so, what was it? He had 'Japan', he had 'Russia', hell, he had England on his side! He had the ability to become better, but he was being reckless and allowing his loved ones to get hurt because of his incompetence as a criminal!
A hand touched his cheek, bringing him out of his chaotic thoughts and into reality with wide green eyes peering into bespectacled blue ones. Eyes that turned his soft sighs crimson and never failed to steal the words from his mouth, eyes that belonged to someone whose smile made the world stop spinning on its axis even if for just half a second, whose laugh brought color into his world that steadily decayed into neutral colors.
That little voice in the back of his head kept jeering, spreading its poisons in spite of how deeply he wished for it to stop, whispering and making its seed sprout.
'He's like this because of you.'
'If you could accomplish your goal sooner, he wouldn't have to be hurt anymore.'
'If you were stronger, he could be safe.'
"Arthur," Alfred began, forcing the Brit to look at him, seriousness prominent in his being from the furrowing of his brow to the unusual frown on his face. "I feel like you've…changed, somehow."
Changed?
The smaller blond blinked a few times again, surprise dawning on his features. "Changed? How so?"
"I-I don't know," the American acknowledged, quirking a look of confusion from the Englishman. "Please hear me out. It's just—you've become quieter, I don't see you as much, and-"
Alfred abruptly paused in his statement, as he then realized they were still lying on the floor of the bathroom. He turned bright red. "H-hold on a minute, this is really starting to bother me."
The Briton glanced down, remembering their current…predicament and quickly nodded, getting off the taller blond and offering him his hand so that he could stand, which the American accepted and was pulled up by.
"I'm sorry," Arthur disclosed, patting his jeans to remove traces of imaginary dust and to occupy his hands with doing something. "You think I've become quieter, you think you don't see me as often anymore, and-?"
"-And I miss you."
That statement caught Arthur completely off-guard, making him stop in his motions entirely and doing a double-take towards the (still half-naked, he identified with an internal groan) bespectacled blond, who was scratching his head in a sheepish mannerism. "Y-you what?"
"I miss you." Alfred repeated, averting his friend's gaze for unbeknownst reasoning as his features grew flush. His eyes darted to meet the Brit for an instant, his cheeks blooming in a more vibrant hue.
He…misses me?
Arthur forced his mouth shut to prevent himself from saying anything he would wind up regretting later on. In a way, he couldn't bring himself to say anything; he could only stare and listen to what the bespectacled blond had to say, lacking even the strength to move himself. Though if he could have enough courage to move, he would have crossed his fingers behind his back in vain hopes that alone could stop him from possibly doing something stupid-
"W-we've always been together," Alfred continued, biting his lip as he fumbled with his hands, interrupting Arthur's internal dilemma for the umpteenth time that evening. "Always; even when we were kids, we stuck by and supported one another. When I was knocked down, you always came and helped me back up, and vice versa. I can't remember a time when something important happened and you weren't there to help me through it. You've been my best friend for so long, that I can't imagine you not being in my life."
Alfred reached out and took one of Arthur's hands in both of his own. "And I feel like you've become distant. I don't know how or why, it's just a gut feeling of mine, but I like you, Arthur! You're my best friend and I don't want to lose you or end up hurt, so…if there's anything you feel you need to tell me, anything at all, don't hesitate to talk to me about it, you got that?"
Arthur looked away, unable to handle the regret eating at his conscience. Even when it was clear the American had been hurt...Alfred still thought of his well-being first, even if it could result in him being hurt more! Why did he always prioritize Arthur's welfare over his own? He always put other people before himself, something that could be easily taken advantage of in today's society. Alfred wasn't an idiot—far from it, he was actually one of the smartest people Arthur knew when he decided to focus—but it wasn't unheard of for him to let his emotions interfere with this thinking. Opening up the opportunity for his heart to be played with...for him to be exploited.
To be honest, he thought of America. He was a big threat to England and England's cause because he believed that the NYPD was incorruptible; because he wanted to be of any use to the NYPD, even if he was thrown under the bus to cover up the failures and shortcomings of the police. Because he would keep allowing himself to be used and abused if it meant the perceived image of 'right' in the eyes of the law was attained, no matter how big of a price he had to pay.
"You claim to be a hero for justice who handles all criminals without discrimination or personal bias, and yet you work with the NYPD? You follow their orders without question or hesitation, discarding your own conscience for the sake of what is deemed 'justice' by your debauched superiors? Are you stupid enough to follow what they say, or are you just naïve? Are you oblivious to the sins they've committed, or are you just in denial?"
"What is it you hope to achieve by working with them? If you hope to change things through doing their dirty work, you're only encouraging them to act unethical knowing you'll clean up their mess."
"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."
And he didn't want the same things to happen to Alfred. He didn't want him to be exploited, used and abused, and thrown under the bus so that people could save their own skins. Alfred deserved better than the likes of that. And, in a way, America deserved better than the likes of that.
Arthur sighed, his head feeling heavy with his slight migraine, the current situation weighing on his heart. "Okay," he said after a minute of silence, looking back at Alfred. "Though the same applies to you. I feel like you've changed in some way, though I can't discern what is it for the life of me. You've also become quieter and busier—it's been ages since we've been able to spend time together like we have today! I can't help but feel like..."
Like you've been hiding something from me, he confessed in the deepest, darkest corner of his mind. Like something has changed between us, and it's holding us back, somehow-!
He bit the tip of his tongue so that he wouldn't speak his thoughts aloud. He knew that Alfred literally just offered an ear to whatever troubles he had, but he didn't think that he, himself, was ready to inform Alfred of his thoughts. It felt childish and stupid of him, but...call it paranoia or fear, he felt like something bad would happen if he decided to say it.
Arthur shook his head, dismissing his previous sentence. "Anyway, the same applies to you. You...mean a lot to me, so if you want to get anything off your chest, don't hesitate to talk to me about it, okay?"
Alfred blinked once. Then twice. And then he smiled crookedly. "Okay."
Arthur let a small, self-satisfied smirk surface.
"Okay. Though, for the love of God, stop flirting with me, Jones."
"I don't know," Alfred teased, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet with an impish grin on his face. He leaned forward with that child-like grin on his face. "We still haven't found a phrase that can be our 'always'."
"Jones-"
"Kirkland-"
"Hei Alfred, I baked some chocolate-chip cookies~!"
Tino stopped in his walk when he opened the door, only to see the tall American with a shorter blond (presumably English, what with those thick eyebrows) male, as they held hands and were standing in front of a bed.
The Finnish blond then proceeded to blush as vibrant a shade of crimson as his Santa Claus outfit he would don for the younger hotel residents during the holidays when he acknowledged the fact that the tall American had no shirt on.
He laughed nervously in an fruitless effort to distill the uncomfortable atmosphere, and scratched the back of his head. "B-b-but I can see that y-you're busy, so I'll just l-leave them outside." Tino indicated as he left the baked goods on the nearest table in the room and quickly retreated, closing the door and enveloping the hotel room in silence.
The only thing that broke that silence was the sound of Arthur's palm colliding several times with his forehead. He had definitely committed a horrendous crime in a past life; that was the only logical explanation for the vast amounts of bullocks he had to put up with.
Author's Note: Yup. Just gonna end that one there. Sorry for the obscurity/lateness of this chapter, I had a cold for a good portion of the week so my head's more or less wonky at the moment. I also faced some technical difficulties, which is why this chapter's being uploaded a few days later than anticipated, to which I apologize for. I also apologize if this chapter doesn't make any sense, whether with Alfred and Arthur or with what happened with Kiku. I plan for things to become a bit clearer later on, but I'm afraid 'tis is but a stepping stone in terms of the plot.
Big shout-outs to people like FabulousIzaya, HiItsUriChan, Maya5392, Miyagino 'Mikura' Asakura, AoiCherry, yeet333, PandaYuki-Chibi, Harrenwolf, usukonly, Adri-Swan, and Nooo, it's awesome to see a combo of old&new faces in relation to people reviewing~!
Thank you all so much for favoriting/following/reading/remotely-liking my story, it means a lot that you guys think so kindly of my weird mess of fiction. I'm at a loss of words, I truly am.
Anyway, that's it for this chapter (I surprisingly had no bloopers; huh.), I'll try updating with 29 soon. Please favorite/follow at your leisure as I'd like you all to continue on this journey with me, please also don't be afraid of reviewing (whether positive or negative—constructive criticism is welcome here) or PMing me as my heart leaps with joy whenever someone comments on my work~!
Until then? Stay awesome.
