A/N- OK Bros, I had noooo idea how short the first chapter was, OTL. Srsly, it was three pages when I was writing it out on paper. My handwriting is not THAT big. Anyways, you guys are great leaving behind lovely reviews and adding this story to your alerts/favorites, it makes me very happy when I wake up and discover all these emails from you! *hugs*
On another note (omg this is a really long A/N OTL OTL OTL), I GOT RID OF THE VIRUSSSSSSSSSS! *happy tears* SO, that means I can...try...to start on HPATGM again, if my Crack Muse returns to me as well. Also, do you bros have any suggestions as to what should happen in the next chapter for this story? I have an idea...but I'm not too sure about it...OTL OTL OTL
ANYWAYS, LONG A/N IS LONG AND NOW OVER YAY.

Arthur groaned and rested his head on a table, the chinks of many glasses hitting tables echoing around him. He was at a local bar, the first one he could find after the beach fiasco. The place was crowded, loud and stuffy, many of the patrons crowding around a single large flat screen T.V. and shouting at some game that was playing. The place wasn't exactly Arthur's cup of tea, but the friendly atmosphere had calmed his nerves a bit. Or maybe it was the liquor, it was hard to tell, he was on his fifth...sixth...seventh shot now.

He downed another glass, slamming it back on the table. "Stupid America!" he grumbled. "Why'd you hafta grow up? You was so cute when you were a babe!" his speech started slipping from proper English to a more relaxed style after the...eighth (maybe? He stopped counting after the seventh)drink. "Bloody prat! 'e dun know 'ow good he 'ad it!" a soft chuckle was heard from the bar stool next to him. "Wha' the bloody 'ell d'you want?" he half-shouted. "Oh motherfuck ," he groaned, realising just who he was sitting next to. On his immediate left smirked Francis, Antonia sitting next to him, and of course Gilbert had to be there too.

"Whining about Amerique, Angleterre?" Francis asked, sipping on a glass of wine.

"None of yer bloody business!" Arthur growled back. The trio just laughed at him.

"You gotta just let your feelings out, hombre," Antonio said wisely. "All these pent up emotions aren't good for your relationship."

"Feelings-pent up-relationship!" Arthur screeched, heat beginning to rise in his cheeks, whether from the liquor or conversation, he couldn't tell.

"Oh come on, Arthur! Everyone knows you feel something for el chico, you're just too scared to admit it! Yo-"

"This conversation is over," Arthur interrupted. standing and staggering towards the door.

He got about two feet before falling, a slew of curse words flying out of his mouth. The men that annoyed him so rushed to his side, stiffling laughter. "I don't think you're sober enough to drive," Gilbert noted, heaving Arthur onto a chair.

Arthur slumped over in his seat. "An' zat's...America's car," he slurred, "I dun wanna crash it..."

"You won't have to worry, he's right here," a voice said behind him.

Arthur jumped, turning to see who had spoken. Indeed, Alfred was there, arms folded across his chest, "Come on, I'm taking you home," he said.

"You...you'll do no such bloody thing!" Arthur snapped, attempting to stand again

"You said so yourself, it's my car and you don't wanna crash it," Alfred retorted, uncharactistically serious.

"You kin buy a new one!"

"I will do no such thing," Alfred stated calmly.

"...Then I'm stayin' here!"

"You're choosing three perverts over the hero?"

Arthur looked up at him. "G'point," he concluded, standing up and leaning against Alfred's frame. Together, they managed to stagger to the parking lot, Alfred searching his druken friend's pockets for the keys, trying to hurriedly unlock the vehicle and shove Arthur inside; it should be illegal, the way he was clinging to him and whispering and giggling in his ear, it was driving Alfred insane.

"Bloody 'ell Alfred, it doesn' take dis fuckin' long t' get in a car!" Arthur shouted, wrenching himself away from Alfred and plopping down on the passenger's side. "Wha' the hell are you smirkin' at?" he grumbled.

The engine roared to life. "Dude, you're totally wasted," laughed Alfred. "It's hilarious, how you're acting right now, man, I wish I had a camera." he started backing up, chuckling.

"Oh shut up, wanker!" Arthur retorted, lurching up and yanking a fistful of Alfred's hair, causing the American to jerk the wheel and nearly sideswipe the convertible next to them.

"Shit Arthur, don't do that!"

"You bloody deserve it," Arthur grumbled, clutching his stomach as it gave a painful lurch. "Although...tha' was a nice car..."

"I woulda made you pay for any damage," Alfred told him, grinning.

Arthur slouched down in his seat. "...Wha'ever. Jus'...jus' take me to a hotel."

"No way! You're going back to my place; besides, it's closer."

"Wha'ever, jus' hurry up an' get there git, I think I'm gunna be sick..." Arthur groaned.

"Anything for my Artie," Alfred teased, shifting gears and beginning to weave in and out of traffic.

"Go t' hell," was the faint response Alfred heard from the passenger's side; he turned his head and saw that Arthur had passed out, half-way out of his seat and mouth hanging open. Alfred blushed furiously, even if the man was pissy and drunk he just looked so...cute. He jerked his head away and had to slam on the brakes, lest he rear-end the truck in front of him; he honked the horn, cursing.

Arthur woke with a start. "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall...ninety-nine bottles of beer...take one down, pass it around...ninety...ninety...ninety-something bottles of beer on the wall..." he sang. "Heeeyyy Alfred, are we there ye'? Cause I'm...reallyyyy tireeddd," he started poking Alfred in the side, his voice slurred.

"I liked you better when you were sleeping," Alfred grumbled to himself.

"Wha' waz tha'?"

"Nothing. We're here," Alfred said, killing the engine and getting out.

"Nnnng, carry meee, I can't moveee..." Arthur whined, flopping around uselessly to prove his point.

Alfred sighed. "...Fine," he complied, going over to the drunk man's side and pulling him out.

Arthur latched onto him, wrapping his arms and legs around Alfred's neck and waist, causing the latter's heart to flutter and have butterflies erupt in his stomach. "...Yer warmmm," Arthur trilled in his ear, totally oblivious on how he was effecting the other man.

"And your breath is rank."

"Bu' the liquor wus gooood; heeyyy, wanna-wanna taste it?" Arthur asked, tilting his head and gazing at Alfred slightly cross-eyed.

Alfred nearly dropped him, did he mean what he thought he meant? "A-Arthur, you should really get to bed dude, besides-mmph!" Arthur silenced him with a forceful kiss, gripping onto the front of Alfred's shirt for dear life. Alfred pulled away from him, even if he didn't want to. "We really shouldn't Artie," he told him.

"Why t' bloody hell not? You wanted t' earlier!"

"That's when you were sober; sorry Artie, but I don't want to take advantage of you like this," Alfred tried to explain, forcing Arthur to relinquesh his grip and fall onto the couch.

"Wait!" Arthur called out, sitting up. "I...I wan' to sleep with you, I mean...like...b-because...the couch wuld be bad fer me back..."

Alfred shook his head. "You sure are demanding when you're drunk," he noted, going over and picking Arthur up again when the man stuck his arms out.

Arthur grumbled something incoherent, resting his head against Alfred's chest. "Why'd you leave me, Alfred?" he asked as Alfred pulled back the blankets of his bed and placed Arthur down.

"I grew up Artie, I didn't need to depend on you anymore."

"Yo-you couldn't just stay with me anyway? I gave you all the freedom you wanted!" Arthur protested.

"I don't want to talk about it tonight Arthur," Alfred whispered, changing into a pair of sweatpants and crawling into the spot next to him. "This is just like when I was little, huh Artie?" he said after a few minutes, happy that Arthur was sharing a bed with him again, even if he was drunk.

"...Jus' go t' hell," was the response.