Tampering With Mail Clerks Is Illegal

by Kita Kitsune

HIATUS. Unauthorized opening, inspection or tampering of mail is considered a federal offense and thus punishable by law. One wonders if this statute applies to the employees, as well. : College AU, US/UK/US main, Giripan, RusAm, PruCan, others. : Language & BL

2. 十月

This is AU. Really AU. So AU that some characters' names have been changed. Don't like it? Go read something else!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or any of its characters. Those belong to Himeruya Hidekaz-sensei, who made a lot more out of them than I ever could have. ^^;; I just do fanfiction for fun, and earn no monetary rewards for writing it. Reviews are, of course, worth as much as silver.

Summary: Unauthorized opening, inspection or tampering of mail is considered a federal offense and thus punishable by law. One wonders if this statute applies to the employees, as well.

Title: Tampering With Mail Clerks Is Illegal

Chapter Two: 十月 (Japanese)

Chapter Two: October

Word Count: 18,824

Page Count: 28

[Total Word Count: 36,848]

[Total Page Count: 55]

Anime: Hetalia
Pairing(s) in this chapter: Alfred/Arthur [America/England], North Italy/Germany, Sweden/Finland, Russia/America, South Italy/Spain

Warning: Language (Arthur, mostly), BL

Author: Kita Kitsune (Call me Fox!)
Date: Monday, June 7, 2010

[On 13 Favorites and 18 Author Alerts] DDD: Holy crap! And that's only with chapter one up!

[17 reviews for 320 hits!] Can't respond. A wee bit drunk on feedback (due to being starved from the old fandom) as well the high hit count. Call back later~?

Fic Recs: After All, It Was a Great Big World by JediShampoo on LJ [ h t t p : / / j e d i s h a m p o o . l i v e j o u r n a l . c o m / 1 0 3 0 6 3 . h t m l ], Lenient Judgment on LJ [ h t t p : / / h e t a l i a - k i n k . l i v e j o u r n a l . c o m / 1 0 4 5 6 . h t m l ? t h r e a d = 1 5 3 1 4 9 0 4 # t 1 5 3 1 4 9 0 4 ], BFFF by CryHOg here on FF [ h t t p : / / w w w . f a n f i c t i o n . n e t / s / 5 6 9 7 0 1 4 / 1 / B F F F ] and Infinity, by JediShampoo on LJ [ h t t p : / / j e d i s h a m p o o . l i v e j o u r n a l . c o m / 9 5 7 9 0 . h t m l ].

Miscellaneous notes (May 22, 2010): This chapter is sooooooooo full of stuff~! I hope everyone likes it, as it took a lot of effort! :3 We even have some of the other countries rearing their heads, a little! Also, to anonymous reviewers… I appreciate your comments, but I can't reply unless you log in. D:

Kiku=chrysanthemum, Kiyoshi=quiet/shining/intelligent. Heracles=(a variation of)Hercules, Melecio=quiet and attentive. Their canon names fit the stereotypical images of their countries, and the names I chose (with much care and deliberation!) fit their personalities better, I think. That's why I changed them.

As for the random references to Bamse and Vargen—wiki Bamse, which is a Swedish cartoon show. I won't explain the full significance here 'cause it'll take too long, but check it out if you want to understand the references in that scene~! :3

Also, the slight Russia/America that will be in here is especially for my friend who is reading through this fic as I write. Thanks so much to onlytomriddle, here on FF~! You're the best, most helpful Japanese/fandom/irl-related friend I could ask for (that spans all of those categories—then no one feels unwanted or shifted! xDD ;;; )! :333 [I'm sorry it didn't end up being too much, because I had to end the chapter, but there may be more in store in the future~!]

Poland is a bit hard to write, but he and Spain amuse me so much with their scene. xDD

Eve: If you would give me an e-mail address where I could contact you and we could discuss the issue(s) like perfectly rational people I would appreciate it. The way you're going about this, it feels rather like a one-sided attack and I am given no other route to defend myself besides deleting your reviews. Yes, I got defensive about it. What did you expect? It had nothing to do with the story, you were just harping on me. That's why I deleted your review. Don't assume about people you don't know.

Edit 6/9/2010: Thanks so much to ItachiEnvy for correcting my Spanish! It's all properly changed from 'dias' to 'noches', now. :3 Thanks again for taking the time to tell me~!

This chapter was written to the music listed below.

Songs: World Is Mine (by Hatsune Miku), Pub and GO!, Absolutely Invincible English Gentleman, Country From Where The Sun Rises, Excuse Me I Am Sorry, Gee (by SNSD), W.D.C., Pechka, Winter, Aiyah! Four-Thousand Years, Hello China

Albums: Nevermind The Bollocks, Here's The Sex Pistols (by the Sex Pistols), London Calling (by The Clash)

Important notes: I've changed some of the countries' human names because some of the original ones bother me/are rather hard to remember/don't fit the characters, in my opinion. I'll try to explain them as the fic progresses, though!

: : : : : : :

The first Friday of the month found Arthur strolling to his usual campus shop just before noon, his psychology recitation having let out only a few minutes before. He hadn't stayed to discuss with the TA afterwards, though, and so was a tad earlier than normal. He gestured to a scone in the window, briskly rattling off his usual order of black tea with milk, stepping forward to pay. Once having procured his beverage, he turned to re-enter the busy hall full of bustling students and professors alike, and nearly ran into someone.

"Oh, heavens, excuse me! I'm afraid I wasn't looking, are you—" He rushed, bottle green eyes wide as brown ones set in a face just as dark slowly locked on them. He felt a rush of cold air through his lungs, stealing his breath as he registered the person. Nevertheless, he straightened politely and put on a slightly forced smile. His fellow Brit smiled at him, nodding a bit before glancing off, shouldering her purse (which was rather big enough to hold quite a few textbooks) a bit quietly, her accent light.

"All right, Arthur?" He smiled, firmly angling his mouth upward into the expression, refusing to be cowed by the emotions running rampant over his mind. He quietly tucked them away, mentally taking a deep breath and plowing onward with common courtesy.

"Yes. All right, Mumbi? You made it into the uni, then? Good show. Aidan and you doing well?" The blond nodded along with the first part of his statement.

"Y-Yes, thank you. Quite well." They stood in uncomfortable silence as the campus coffee shop continued to serve its long line of patrons. Finally, the younger Brit bit her lip and made to step carefully around him, casting a glance back with an awkward smile of her own, dark eyes deep and sad.

"If you'll excuse me, I have a class at noon—"

"Of course. Cheers, then." He raised a hand in farewell, again forcing his face to lift into that unfelt expression.

"C-Cheers."

Only when she had disappeared into the left-hand staircase at the end of the hall did he let it fall, eyes dropping to the hot cup of still-steaming tea in his other hand. His fingers tightened around the plastic cup as well as the bag that held his scone in that same hand. Soon enough the Brit brushed it off, shaking his head and striding purposefully forward.

Perhaps it would be best to be early to work, today.

: : :

Arthur was resting his pencil against the book open in front of him, absently leaning his cheek on the knuckles of his fist, eyes distant. He'd completely forgotten that Mumbi had been aiming to attend uni in America. After all, what were the odds? After all, she was from his general area of England… They'd kept meeting up, for years, at the local festival and perhaps he'd really liked her since he first set eyes on her, but with her being about three and a half years his junior it was a little difficult. He'd held off on setting about courting her, believing she'd have no interest and so why should he give himself over to more useless heartache? He called her, around New Year's, on a whim, and to his great surprise she'd started flirting with him, and within a week they were dating. At that point, it had been nearly a year since his last romantic escapade, and so this time around he was a bit more cautious. Yet, it had seemed that they clicked, so he had foolishly allowed himself to hope that this time, perhaps…

It hadn't ended well. Apparently her best friend, a lad much closer to her age and who knew much more about her than Arthur could ever hope to—ah, it was such an idiotic, stupid thing of him! Subconsciously, he frowned, recalling that. To think, Mumbi had been in love with this boy for four years, and had still sought out another relationship. It had been a rather weak bond between she and Arthur, as in the end it had only taken that 'best friend' confessing that he loved her after all, for her to dump him.

That had been about six months ago, so it was too natural that his heart was still a bit stiff. He'd recalled taking a deep breath, reeling in his anger but being very stern with her that one did not enter into a relationship with someone if they were still pining over another (fucking high school children and their emotional drama!). The worst part was, in the one month they'd dated, he'd started to really believe—well, the point was, it wasn't meant to be. It'd slipped his mind, though, that she would be a freshman in college and it was really dumb luck that she'd ended up attending the very uni he did. Then again, life was full of odd tricks, like that. He hadn't spoken to her in just over three months, after all, and perhaps she'd kept it quiet from him, but…

The blond raised his pencil-free hand to his face, propping his forehead against the side of it to shadow his eyes and sighing deeply. He really was useless, like this. He very well knew that somewhere he was secretly hoping she would come back, and perhaps in the end he hadn't handled it in the best of ways. He'd been beyond annoyed with the lad (and still was!), though—who waited to confess until the person they supposedly 'loved' was in another relationship?—and perhaps his anger had gotten a little ahead of him. Honestly, though, he'd tried his best to take it well. It had been Mumbi's first 'real relationship', after all, and he didn't quite feel the part of playing the ex-boyfriend who only wished to ruin their ex-girlfriend's life. She had been so insistent, though! He'd told her he couldn't see her as a friend, but she had pushed and almost cried about losing him and he had caved, falling prey to his own soft heart once again.

It only grew worse from there. He knew he needed distance after a relationship split—he wasn't one who took break-ups all that well (once he cared, he was stuck)—and without it he had become a bit clingy and rather barmy about the whole subject. In the end, it had been a hurt-filled (but he did a smashing job of hiding it behind anger) message to her on Facebook filled with expletives (left by him) that caused her to start ignoring his attempts at contact. After a week, he'd collected himself up and refrained from trying to contact her, at all. The entire time, he simply tried to console himself with the obvious fact that she was happy with her choice, and had gotten the person she'd really wanted. That was the most important bit about it, wasn't it? Mumbi was happy, and while the entire fiasco was still a sore spot for him, how could he seek to ruin that 'perfect ending', for her? It would really be too selfish of him, so he had ignored most of the pain, plowing through the following months with a single-minded determination not to let it get to him.

Had it really only been a few months since they'd spoken? Arthur shook his head. The wound was too fresh, and it certainly had nothing to do with the absolutely ludicrous idea that this time it had hurt so much because he really didn't have that much luck in finding people who related to him. Or, perhaps it was something else? It might because—for the first time in one of his stunted, doomed relationships—he'd actually gone so far as to allow himself to hold his lover's hand without fear of being seen as too forward (however briefly and meekly the act may have been).

Either way, he'd never been the type to attract members of either sex (being far too shy to try to emulate his classmates' dating experiments), and long ago he'd given up and simply allowed his mother-hen side to see all people he met (and didn't immediately dislike) as some sort of family. In middle school it had been the worst—not having really any friends, and instead reading through his lunch period quietly alone, empty seats all around him. He'd never been popular, always rather unremarkable, easy to miss, easy to forget, easy to walk all over if people knew the right buttons to push.

Arthur sighed, again, shifting a few fingers to rub at his temple, gazing morosely at the chemistry homework before him. It wasn't hard, it was just an introductory course and therefore filling one of his Gen. Eds., but something about seeing Mumbi today had just dredged up all those horrible, aching memories that he would so desperately love to forget, but knew he couldn't.

A tapping (the words a mere afterthought) on the desk before him caused him to look up.

"Hey! You there, man?" He responded automatically, tone bland.

"Yes?" …oh. He registered the face, belatedly connecting it to the voice a moment later, and began to stand, running a hand back through his hair with a sigh and gazing off towards the mailboxes.

"Oh, it's you." He searched for the familiar number in his mind, but somehow it had been pushed out with all his musings and so the blond finally gave up, blinking faintly towards the American currently frowning at him a little.

"What was your room number, again?" Those blue eyes looked unhappy at the response, the light-haired brunet's lips puckering up a bit in a slight pout.

"I've been coming here for a month, and you've always remembered it before…" The Brit exhaled slowly, forcing patience and good humor into his tone.

"Just a bit of a bad day. What number?" The younger man's lips screwed to the side in what looked like frustration, sharp eyes flicking back and forth, watching his own tired green ones.

"…Five-fourteen, Artie. Same as always." The Brit nodded, going about to fetch the mail in silence. He returned a little over a minute later, offering a polite smile as he held it out.

"Here you are, then. Have a pleasant day." The yank's lips scrunched up a bit more as he winced, reaching to take the proffered envelopes and looking off to the side with a mutter.

"You're actin' too nice. What happened?" Arthur felt the corner of his mouth twitch in annoyance. He was under no obligation to share his personal relationship failings with the dolt before him, really. Did Americans not understand the concept of privacy? …He thought back, for a moment, to the celebrity pictures splashed over the magazine covers he had glimpsed at the convenience store on the way home, last night, and shook his head. Apparently not.

"It's nothing to concern yourself over." He put the answer mildly, sitting back down and looking about for his reading glasses, brow furrowing when they were nowhere in sight. He started feeling around for them, growing increasingly unaware of Alfred's presence until the bloke cleared his throat.

"What're you lookin' for?" Arthur muttered his response without real concentration on the words, lips curving down in annoyance as he shuffled through the papers on the top of the desk once more, before beginning to glance around beneath him.

"My reading glasses. I can't seem to—"

"You mean these?" A sharp tap to one of the lenses perched on his face made Arthur start, and he blinked, gazing up at the half-smile on the brunet's face as he at last registered that he'd been wearing them all this time. His cheeks heated, and he frowned a little in chagrin as he glanced down, absently adjusting the spectacles with one hand as he coughed into the other before making to shuffle the sheets splayed out over his chemistry book, needlessly.

"…Yes. Those." He couldn't bring himself to force out the thank you (pride dented atop all else!), and so primly continued staring at the problems in his textbook, willing his flush to recede and ignoring the American's very existence. After a moment or two he heard a soft, amused snort, and a hand pressed down on the top of his head, ruffling his hair. Embarrassed only more with the gesture, he swatted the limb away impatiently, brows wrinkling together and gaze sparking in indignation as he lifted it, mouth opening with a good mind to—

"See ya, Artie." Alfred was already walking away, half-lifting his arm at the elbow to wave lightly behind him.

: : :

When he arrived at the lower field, gym bag in tow, the next day—sure enough there was an annoying prat waiting for him by his usual tree. Arthur dropped his satchel by another tree's trunk, bending to dig his football out of his bag, and ignoring the loud, cheery babbling going on nearby. That was all he'd been doing to deal with the twit, since this started. He wouldn't speak to the brunet, not even a greeting, until he was too worn out from the exercise to care. Arthur twitched—it was time for this to stop. Glaring, the Brit's brows furrowed mightily as he at last whipped around, stalking over to the boy, the ball cushioned between his side and a bent elbow—well set to confront him at last about leaving him the hell alone to play in peace! The underclassman grinned up at him as he whipped out a finger, shaking it angrily.

"Stop coming here! You've been doing so for over a month now, and I see well enough of you alr—"

The ball popped forcefully out of its spot set against his side, interrupting him and leaving a hole in the air between his arm and the red jersey. It rolled a little ways away, he could hear it, before coming to rest. Alfred's cheeky expression did not fade as he looked up at him, leaned back on straight arms. The American did eventually place his foot back down on the ground from its unexpected kick, though. Arthur was flabbergasted for a moment—before then raising his voice, bristling as he recovered from the surprise.

"What the bloody hell was that for! You—" There was an annoying chortle and then he just caught sight of a blur of light brown and white, and the underclassman was running after the ball he'd kicked. Arthur sputtered, but wasted no time in chasing after the idiot.

"W-What are you—! That's my ball, you sodding yank!" A glimmer of a bright, confident grin was all that followed that, and soon the brunet was off across the field, navy shorts fluttering against his thighs and dribbling the football easily with another bout of laughter in his voice.

"Let's see if you can get it back, old man~!" Arthur's hackles rose further, and he shouted for all he was worth across that field as he continued to run, eyes white and veins popping all over his blond hair. He wasn't that old, only had a few years on Alfred—surely only a few!

"ARGH! Get back here!" He sprinted, cleats sinking neatly into the firm ground (it was already mid-fall, after all) as he made a beeline for the annoying boy, green-as-grass eyes narrowing and flicking to the side. He darted out a moment later, neatly swiping around to snag the football from the American's wide dribbles. Clearly, Alfred had never played the game properly! Smirking at his advantage, he tossed his blond head, proudly, dribbling a good distance away and slowing to a jog before glancing smugly behind him.

The huge, blue-eyed American was bearing down on him with an altogether too focused look, and the Brit let out a brief, garbled squawk before taking off again, racing back down the field with close, fast dribbles and keeping the ball safely guarded. He silently thanked himself that he'd come here to work out for a few hours, every Saturday. It would soon end, as fall was fading fast—but for now he'd enjoy it.

Or, he would, if he weren't being chased by an altogether loony American brat!

Reading his opponent's next move, he nudged the football with a well-placed forceful toe and jumped over the brute's attempt at a trip, throwing him a dirty look over his shoulder as he regained control of the ball further down the field, yelling behind him as the idiot kept chasing him. The blond dribbled effortlessly, not exactly looking where he was going.

"Geh! So persistent! Leave me alone, git-face!" Another laugh was all that greeted him, and Arthur frowned deeply, not seeing why such a wide smile should spread over that infuriating chap's face at his words. It did, though, and that ridiculous expression colored the kid's voice.

"Aw, but Artie~! It's fun, and we're friends, yeah? Friends should have fun together!" He blinked, surprised at that answer. Friends… ? They weren't— His brow furrowed, and he subconsciously slowed to deny the statement.

"W-What? We're not friends, you—"

"HA!" Too late, he realized the tactic and almost fell flat on his face as the football was snatched from his influence. Another vein popping in his head in anger, he roared, streaming down the field with quick steps to make up for that American's blasted long legs!

"And we are so friends! You've been to my dorm~!" Those obnoxious snickers were really grating on his nerves, and he flung himself only more into his goal, streaming down towards the yank, eyes white again with rage.

"SHUT IT, YOU! That doesn't mean anything!" There was a snide giggle, and he pursed his lips in annoyance as the American dodged with alarming grace, casting a charming, egotistic smile back towards him.

"Besides, Artie! I towed you home after you got drunk! That has to mean something, right~?" His entire neck and face flushed at that reminder (he couldn't recall that night, after all!), and his only reasonable response was to start yelling again, despite the accidental sputtering that curled around his words.

"Th-That was an accident! I'd n-never done that before—a-and I certainly won't be doing it, again!" The Brit lunged for the ball, a leg outstretched and trying to nick it from between the light-haired brunet's even, smooth strides. There was another flash of white, and he spared a moment to realize the yank was grinning at him, yet again. He grit his teeth in frustration.

"Aw, Artie~ It's not so bad! You just… have to—" Alfred's words got a little choppy as his foe made another go for the ball, this time managing to neatly toe it out from between his legs. He skirted around the confused bloke with all the speed of a seasoned player and tapped the inside of his feet against the rolling sphere a few times to lessen the kinetic energy and regain control a few meters away—stopping it. Arthur straightened for an instant, casting a superior, triumphant smirk back behind him. The American sighed, pausing himself for a moment and running a hand back through his disheveled tawny hair, casting a wry smile towards him and finishing his sentence, at last.

"…you just have to go a little easy on the stuff, ya know? No chugging half a bottle of vodka on your first try!" The chap shook his head, propping a hand on a hip as he offered another brash, bothersome smile.

"Hell, man, that took some balls. Gil's still laughing about it! Everyone knows you're just supposed to drink vodka in shots, not guzzle it!" His own face had just gotten redder and redder as the yank went on, and he cut him off at the end with a flustered bark.

"I-I knew that!" The flaxen-haired Brit turned, shoulders bunched up near his neck, arms straight at his sides and so tense they were almost shaking. He threw another glare over his shoulder, visage burning shamelessly. "Leave me alone, idiot! You're interrupting my practice time!"

"Oh, yeah?" The kid leered at him, leaning forward. "Practicing for what? You're not on the soccer team here, although with those moves maybe you should be~!" His mouth dropped open, thick brows creasing together in momentary confusion—but then Alfred ran at him again and he cursed, once more being forced to sprint away.

"Damn it all! Leave me alone!"

: : :

He'd been here for more than two hours, this time, he was sure. At the moment the American was sprawled out on the ground between two trees and vaguely beside him, covered in dirt and sweat, his breathing noisy and heavy. Arthur was certainly much more dignified, leaned against the very tree that he'd dropped his bag by, earlier. In contrast to his underclassman's lazy posture, he only had one leg out, the other propped up at the knee with an elbow rested on the ground. Alfred's head was about equal with his cleats, the yank's waist around where the Brit leaned against the tree, only a meter or so of sparse grass separating them. The blond absently dabbed at the sweat on his forehead and the back of his neck with the small towel procured from his satchel, checking his mobile in the relative quiet.

"Hey… what's that?" He lifted his head, to see what the yank was referring to—ah. His wristband. Lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug, he went back to navigating the device and checking for any missed calls, accented voice bored.

"An English Lion."

"Hmmm? Can I see it?" He cast a sharp glance over to the yank, who only gave him a big smile. Arthur forced himself to bite out a response.

"The last time you took something from me, you threatened not to return it. I'd rather not have a repeat of that incident." He sniffed snobbishly, and ignored the pout spreading over the brunet's face. He heard a soft grumble and some shifting, carefully watching the lad from his peripheral vision as he simultaneously skimmed over his recent calls. His brows lifted up in surprise. Adie had called? He frowned. Now certainly wasn't the best time to call her back (due to the fact she was likely starting work as well as his current company), but—

Strong fingers wrapped around his left lower arm, jerking it to the side, and he blinked stupidly for an instant at the empty space his mobile had occupied before looking over. Arthur nearly jumped at the close, inquisitive face examining the white English Lion stitched neatly into his red wristband.

"Wh-What are you doing?" He managed to gasp out, utterly flummoxed at this strange turn in behavior. Then he frowned as the pieces connected, bristling and trying to pull his hand back with a belligerent snarl.

"Refraining from giving it to you doesn't mean come over here and look, you twit!" At last, blue eyes flicked up to acknowledge him, a curve tugging up a corner of that infuriating yank's mouth. He tapped the embroidered design with the pad of his thumb. The blond's brain began to slowly register that Alfred's other four fingers were—rather gently—circled around his skin. His mobile felt loose in his hand as he flushed and hated it, mind sinking low into the ground with shame.

"This is pretty cool." The brunet mused, gaze falling back to the object, completely unaware of his friend's distress as his digits shifted a bit, thumb again brushing over the embroidered pattern atop the absorbent terry cloth. Just as Arthur felt his face bloom steadily darker, Alfred glanced back up at him with another slight smile. At that, he came to his senses, ripped his hand out of the other's grasp and simultaneously whipped a leg around to kick Alfred in the stomach with the sole of his shoe, sending him flying.

There had been really no words in his mind during the act and the mobile in his left hand dropped harmlessly to the ground as the Brit's right hand hastily moved to try to scrub the feel of those bigger, more athletic fingers from his left arm once they'd been removed. A soft groan reached Arthur through this, and he glanced up, brows creasing at how Alfred was doubled over—oh. Oh, shit. He'd forgotten he was wearing cleats! Riddled with guilt he sprang up, rushing to the other man and kneeling beside him, placing a hand on the back of the white T-shirt over his friend's form.

"I-I—Are you all right? I—crap, you aren't bleeding, are you?" Leaning over in earnest, he wriggled a concerned hand under the boy's tightly clenched arms over his shirt, gently feeling around his abdomen for any fluid. He dismissed the gasp in his ear and the jerk at his touch, attributing it to pain and sighed in relief, shoulders sagging as he felt no telltale stickiness on the cloth beneath his fingers. Arthur shook his head, unaware of a startled azure gaze on him until he attempted an unnatural-feeling apologetic smile towards the yank as he withdrew his hand and sat back on his heels. The light-haired brunet just watched him, expression unreadable but close to astonishment, and he began to prattle a bit needlessly, rendered self conscious as he reflected on both his unthinkingly violent and accidentally forward actions.

"I-I'm sorry, I thought you were—" He faltered, fidgeting with the hem of his red jersey as the boy only blinked at him. Eventually the Brit broke the silence again, standing hurriedly and brushing off his knees, not looking at the eyes yet locked on him.

"W-Well! If you're fine, then I'll just be—" A hand grabbed his covered wrist, and he blushed again, forcing himself to meet the other's gaze. …Oh. Alfred was smiling, although it did look a little strained. Perhaps due to the new bruise on his abdomen? He felt his cheeks grow yet warmer in mounting guilt.

"Hey, hey, Arthur. It's fine. I guess I deserved it, huh~?" A warm set of chuckles floated to the air at that, and the American tugged on his arm as though to yank him down. He resisted, of course, huffing and trying to pull himself to a straighter standing position. Invisibly, he sighed in relief at there being no serious injury, easily slipping back into a more comfortable reaction.

"You most certainly did! Honestly, you should learn to respect others' personal space!" He shot, and almost toppled as the taller American pulled himself to his feet—partially pulling on Arthur, for that! He managed to steady them both and only overbalance for a moment, instead settling for glaring at the yank as Alfred stood, smiling sheepishly. The freshman looked down at his stomach, palming the now-dirt-smeared fabric and rubbing it with the hand not currently keeping the blond from sprinting away.

Oh, right—that divvy tosser was still holding his wrist. Best ignore that! He coughed, angling his scarlet face away and trying to move his arm subtly so that Alfred would notice, and release him. To his great discomfiture, the American remained oblivious.

"So! Yeah, Arthur, I'm sorry. It's just I've never seen that kind of design before, and—" He felt like the brunet was trying to see his face, and it glowed only brighter as he angled it further away, trying again to tug futilely out of the sturdy grip, babbling absently.

"I-if you like it that much I'd just give it to you…" He muttered, deciding it would be more polite to try and meet the taller student's eyes, even if he was almost dying due to the indignity of his current predicament. His lips quivered upward in a shaky smile as the underclassman frowned, rubbing the back of his head. Arthur plunged his now-freed hand into its counterpart, shoulders still trembling a little.

"What? Nah, it's yours and I wouldn't want to…" That idiot trailed off almost absently, and he watched as sharp eyes fell from his humiliated face to the sight of his right hand gripping his left. He felt both exposed and chagrined, suddenly. His face and body language were being so blatant about his discomfort, and there was a serious danger that the American might now be suspicious. Swiftly, Arthur feigned that the action had only been to rip off his right wristband, and he flung it at the boy with a sudden yell and perhaps unnecessary vehemence.

"Just take it!" The wanker yelped, barely ducking to the side in time to avoid the soft missile meant to connect with his forehead.

"Wah! Jeeez, man…" But the blond had already whipped around, stomping back over to his bag and stuffing his mobile and the fallen towel into it, feeling the heat on his face reach nearly all the way up to his ears. There was an odd little sense of warmth in his stomach for positively no confirmable reason, and this he shoved to a dark, moldy corner of his mind, firmly keeping his face away from the yank behind him and jerking his bag onto his shoulder. He hastily beat a retreat, trying in vain to sprint up the hill without being too obvious about his desire to leave as quickly as possible. He heard a few garbled, hasty sounds behind him but refused to turn around, ignoring the slight reverberations in the ground as the younger man tried to scramble up the hill behind him and catch up.

With each step, Arthur's mortification quickly stewed into affronted anger. How dare he! It's not as though he was—oh, wait. The Brit felt more heat creep into his cheeks as he amended the rest of that statement. Well! It's not as though he'd be interested in a vulgar moron like that, despite the fact he wasn't bad looking—but he had standards! For another man to touch him so presumptuously like that was completely inexcusable! He didn't even know him all that well! Alfred's voice began to echo back into his ears as he placed one foot on even ground, his inner tirade ending.

"W-Wait, Artie! Today—I mean, if you'd want to, we could go get something to—" Firmly established at the top of the hill he whirled around, bag thumping against his shoulder as he fixed a dangerous glower on the American boy whose head was just about level with his shins. Alfred stopped dead, looking up at him from beneath his fringe in surprise at the degree of annoyance pulsing through those emerald eyes. Arthur snapped, fury (for that's what it was, most certainly) spilling over.

"No, I don't want to! I never do! You ask me this every time, and the answer's always no! I don't need your foolish pity!" Arthur jabbed a finger down towards him and felt some inner sense of satisfaction at seeing an uncomfortable look pass over the yank's face as he did. "I'm doing well fine on my own and can't be arsed to deal with your stupid, insatiable need to show up wherever you're unwanted! Leave me alone!" With that, he whipped around, stomping off with steam practically erupting from his ears, his crimson face still blazing in vexation.

: : :

Standing in wide-eyed amazement as the enraged Englishmen trod off—Alfred blinked, then scratched his head, looking off towards the grass of the field in front of him with a little abashed smile.

"I guess… I bother him too much... ?" Considering he only saw the guy once a week, too! Well… maybe twice. It could be good in some way (did that mean Arthur remembered him?), he guessed, but… His shoulders sagged, and he shook his head, running his hand through his short hair as another thought registered. He inhaled, quick, in realization—then breathed a slower sigh, a word riding it.

"Shit… I didn't know he thought I pitied him, I just—" He hadn't meant to offend Arthur. There'd been something bothering the Brit, yesterday, and he'd thought that maybe a little rough-housing today might make him feel better. …Or something. That upperclassman was normally just so grumpy, but really interesting and… he'd meant what he said, back then. The guy was cute when his face was all red. At his thoughts the American shook his head, slipping off his glasses. He rubbed the hand previously in his hair over his face with a stifled snort—of amusement, that's what it was. Nothing else. His shoulders shook a little as his hand paused over his eyes, words coming out in a low mumble.

"Maybe I should… leave him alone for a little while." Taking his hand away and blinking his eyes rapidly, he cast a glance back towards the tree where—he blinked, and this one wasn't to clear his vision. Oh! The teen quickly replaced his glasses, scanning the ground—then scuffled back down the hill, keeping the little splotch of red he'd just spotted in sight. He squinted, before heading for the bottom of the tree, squatting down and picking up the little thing.

Alfred let out a sharp laugh. It was Arthur's wristband. That damned red wristband with the white, embroidered English Lion on the front—the same one that had gotten the guy so annoyed, in the end. He smiled at it, almost wistfully, rubbing a thumb over the soft cloth as he had earlier. Well… he guessed he could leave Arthur alone. For… well, two weeks wouldn't be too long, right? After all, he didn't even know him, and—he slipped the band onto his left wrist, turning it so the lion was on the inside, over his pulse. He smiled at it, almost absently. It was so… so uniquely British, and if there was one thing Arthur was—it was that, at least.

: : :

The next Friday, it wasn't until the end of his shift as he was locking up that Arthur realized Alfred hadn't shown up, this time. He paused as he was taking the key out of its slot, testing the metal blinds absently to be sure they were sturdy. The Brit glanced behind him at the common room, brows wrinkling as he scanned the vicinity for the loudmouth American. No… he was nowhere in sight. Frowning softly, the Brit shook his head, chastising himself as he went around to the door to retrieve his things. He stepped inside, and had a thought. Perhaps he'd come earlier? Closing the door behind him, the blond flicked the light back on and strode down the rows of mailboxes to check.

Five-fourteen, five-fourteen…

Ah.

His brows wrinkled further together in consternation. All of Alfred's mail was still there. With the semester in full swing, five weeks in, the new student mail had diminished considerably. He reached out a hand, almost plucking the—he noticed his fingers and hastily withdrew them, turning promptly and marching back towards the door, cheeks coloring slightly. What, really, was that? There was no way he could get up to Alfred's room to deliver the mail without being signed in, and if the lad hadn't shown up he was either sick, or… avoiding him. N-Not that he'd been thinking to deliver it! But… perhaps something had happened? Arthur felt a small stab of guilt.

He'd convinced himself it was Alfred's fault—which it was, really!—and he had every right to be angry. He had firmly told himself he hadn't wanted that stupid git to show up at his Friday mailroom shift. He didn't want to see that vain, tall yank again, he'd told him as much, and… W-Well, maybe it was a little nice that someone actually noticed him, for once, but… He didn't want to see him again! No! Every time he did he ended up getting angry! Alfred was an annoying, utterly divvy tosser and he shouldn't spare a second thought for his absence! The self-centered American had no doubt gone to some social affair and had forgotten the time! …Yes, that was probable.

Jealousy boiled up within him, along with anger at being shifted for some random party—n-not that he cared! He was only jealous because he was lonel—er, because Alfred was some shallow social butterfly, no doubt! A party-boy, pretty and just as likely popular… Puffing up like an offended rooster, the blond wrenched on his coat, cursing the underclassman's name under his breath. His knapsack's two straps firmly over his shoulders, he stormed out the door at a fast pace, an irate glower casting shadows over his face and causing people to skirt around him. He burst through the entryway doors, steps pissed off and purposeful on the sidewalk outside as he made his way to the library on lower campus to do his usual studying.

: : :

The next day, Arthur stood at the top of the hill at the customary time (although perhaps a bit earlier), satchel slung over his training jacket as he stared down at the vacant field. There was absolutely no one there. His fingers tightened over the drawstring between them as his shoulders slumped, imperceptibly. They stiffened not a moment later, though, and he stubbornly tromped down the hill, digging out his football and tossing his bag to the side, not caring about the delicate mobile being jostled within. He threw himself into the game, furiously kicking and dribbling, or running to catch up. Most of the time, he just ended up kicking the ball too hard and had to run clear across the field to retrieve it. Every time he turned to repeat the pointless exercise, he noted the absence of another presence at the base of that tree. It wasn't until after a while that he realized he was just tiring himself out for the sake of it. His shoulders slumped, again.

Maybe… Alfred had decided he wasn't worth the time to hang around? Maybe… he'd just gotten frustrated, and forgotten about him? Frowning mightily, he socked that damn ball again. This time, though… he didn't immediately go after it. The blond just stood there, staring at the football as it bounced off a tree and slowly rolled to a stop by his bag, across the field. He shook his head after a moment, slowly beginning to walk forward. It took a little while because he didn't run, but when he reached the ball—he ignored it, heading for his satchel instead and rummaging around for a little while before he found his mobile. Staring at it bleakly… he opened up his Missed Calls folder, not surprised when there were, again, no recent ones. Scrolling down, he found a few still stored from that last full week in September, when Alfred had called him a couple of times.

He watched the number there for so long that he had to periodically move to press the center button in order to relight the screen as well as prevent it from automatically locking. The Brit screwed up his face, at last, firmly thumbing the small green button on the left side of his keypad, and held the device to his ear. He distantly noted his palms were sweaty, and listened to the ringing on the other side. He wasn't quite sure if he desperately wanted the yank to miss the call, or hear Alfred answer, but—

"Hey! You've reached Alfred, I can't—"

Click.

He clenched the little mobile in his hand after hanging up, letting his arm drop to his side as his entire frame deflated, again. Well, maybe now he could admit it. Even if the chap hadn't answered, his actions just a moment ago wouldn't allow for any self-deception. The lack of an endless fountain of obnoxiously cheery smiles, newly-irritating voicemail messages and forced company at the end of every week was starting to wear on him.

He apparently missed that damn wanker.

: : :

He hadn't tried to call, again. Alfred's mobile would register his number, anyway, so why bother? The bloke already knew he'd caved. He wouldn't admit it, but he was a little nervous and paying more attention during his shift, today. It was Friday, again. Almost two weeks since that little incident at the field. Somehow, he couldn't find himself to care, anymore. It was already over, right? The American knew he'd belled, and (while Arthur didn't allow himself to ponder that he'd just seen it and ignored it—surely, he simply hadn't checked his phone!) it was almost certain he'd spot the lad, today! The only reason he'd missed him last week was because he was too busy studying! Yes, that was it… and the brunet was obviously drowned in schoolwork, and had forgotten to pick up his mail! Yes! That's why he hadn't shown up, last week! The Brit nodded to himself, sitting alone (as usual) behind his desk. He glanced at his watch. It was already a little after one. He plastered on a pleasant smile, doing his best to appear cheery and even-tempered. Certainly, all he had to do was be on his best behavior! Then Alfred could see he wasn't all bad! He wasn't doing this to make the chap talk to him, again—certainly not! He was only turning over a new leaf! He was going to reign in his temper, not curse, and then—

The hummed tune in his throat died as he noticed someone tall, in jeans and a leather jacket, push through the first of the entryway doors. He cast a quick glance around, noting that the common room was rather full, and blushed. The second set of entry doors opened, and he swallowed. The brunet wasn't looking up, instead thumbing something away with alarming dexterity on the full keyboard of his phone. His throat closed up, unable to do anything but watch helplessly as the distracted man walked on without even looking up. Soon he'd be at the security desk, and—

Oh! Hastily pulling out his mobile, he fumbled a little with the menus and buttons before finding the correct ones, and soon held it to his ear, heart thumping loudly and eyes trained on the American across the room. A few seconds passed, and then the brunet's brow furrowed, and his thumbs paused.

Please don't ignore it because it's me, please don't ignore it because it's me…

"Arthur?" The blond made an interesting sound of surprise before gathering himself, injecting a disturbing amount of cheer into his tone as he snapped his gaze from the man on the other side of the common area, too embarrassed to watch now that they were talking. He was proud he didn't stutter—too much, anyway.

"H-Hello, Alfred! I was just calling to—"

"What the hell, man. Who calls without leaving a message?" His mouth went dry at the apathetic tone.

"O-Oh, no, about that, I—"

"Psh. You what? You're sorry? Nah, you're not sorry. Why'd you call, huh? I thought you wanted to be left alone. Said so yourself." Something in his chest was sinking. This wasn't how the conversation was supposed to go!

"I-I—"

"What's that? I can't hear you over the sound of my not caring." To that nonchalant voice, his blood boiled, and he ended up shouting into the small mobile pressed against his ear.

"You bloody div! To think, I—Y-You haven't picked up your mail!" He diverted himself at the last moment, blurting the first non-offensive thing that came to mind. There was a pause on the other end.

"…What?" The Brit hurried on, almost desperate to keep talking now that he wasn't being interrupted every five seconds.

"Y-Your mail! You didn't come last week, and there was quite a bit in then, and if you didn't come in this week they might start forwarding it to your parents' house and that would require quite a lot of paperwork on my part! It's less trouble if you come, now! And if there was an important letter from the uni you missed—well it is Friday and we're closed tomorrow and Sunday and there might be a package in for you and—"

"You sure ramble a lot when you're nervous." A voice above his head observed, wisely.

He nearly had a heart attack.

: : :

"Arthur?"There was an interesting, garbled stutter on the other end. Alfred raised a brow. It wasn't like him to be so—

"H-Hello, Alfred! I was just calling to—" He pegged that tone, easily. Forced cheerfulness. The guy was nervous. Even so—he was still hurt over the yelling. He hadn't done anything that bad to deserve it, and so allowed his annoyance to be heard.

"What the hell, man. Who calls without leaving a message?"

"O-Oh, no, about that, I—" He bluntly continued, not caring, hurt, and pouting. Those particular feelings had been festering for the past couple of weeks. He'd thought that Arthur would've missed him, at least a little, but he hadn't even called except for last Saturday! What did the guy think, he'd show up after purposefully avoiding him the day before? Jesus Christ, what'd he expect? Art had asked—no, more like demanded—to be left alone, after all!

"Psh. You what? You're sorry? Nah, you're not sorry. Why'd you call, huh? I thought you wanted to be left alone. Said so yourself." He glanced over at the mailroom desk halfway through his comment, noting lightly that the Brit was too distracted with the conversation to notice his gaze. For the first time in weeks, he was seeing that guy. He was seeing Arthur and Arthur looked—upset?

"I-I—"

"What's that? I can't hear you over the sound of my not caring."He muttered the phrase out as an absent barb, an obvious attempt to incite the Brit to rage—just to see where it'd go. In truth, Alfred was more concerned with heading over as inconspicuously as he could, stealthily approaching the desk while he casually pretended to do something else.

"You bloody div! To think, I—Y-You haven't picked up your mail!" That last line almost made him laugh at the clear censoring, although he was a bit worried that Arthur wasn't insulting him endlessly as he usually did. His mouth tried to twitch into a smile, but he fought it just barely (the guy would hear it in his tone, for sure!) by answering in a low voice he hoped sounded burly and intimidating.

"…What?"He stepped a bit closer to, but not quite in front of, the mailroom booth and counter embedded in the wall. He was out of Arthur's vision, off to the side. That smile again tugged at his lips as he noted the red, flustered look as the Brit started gesturing spastically with his free hand to no one who (he thought) could see. It was a little… adorable. In a weird sort of way.

"Y-Your mail! You didn't come last week, and there was quite a bit in then, and if you didn't come in this week they might start forwarding it to your parents' house and that would require quite a lot of paperwork on my part! It's less trouble if you come, now! If there was an important letter from the uni you missed—well it is Friday and we're closed tomorrow and Sunday and there might be a package in for you and—" Hearing the accented babbling in stereo made him want to snigger. He resisted, though. Alfred kept the line on, but pulled the device away from his ear and put his other hand to his chin, framing it in a thoughtful pose.

He stepped in front of the counter and feigned studious scrutiny, tone wise.

"You sure ramble a lot when you're nervous."

: : :

"Cor blimey, Alfred! D-Don't do that… !" The Brit sucked in a shocked breath, a hand clutching his mobile over his racing chest, wide eyes focusing up on the blue-eyed American standing before him. The chap's mouth was curled into a satisfied grin. His eyes flicked to the boy's mobile as he brought it up, and Arthur could only stare at it, not comprehending its peculiar angle until he heard a mechanized clicking sound. If possible, his gaze grew whiter, and his jaw dropped open, his hand falling swiftly from his chest and placing his own mobile aside as he rose, shoulders shuddering in horror and building irritation.

"Y-You did not just…" The American gave him an impish grin, pressing a few more buttons on the keypad before sticking the device safely back in his pocket with a pat, beaming.

"Well, you call so much I've gotta have a good Caller ID photo for you, ya know~?"

"Argh! Idiot!" He lunged at the yank with no concern for his surroundings, hands aiming for his neck but ending up on the collar of his jacket. It was just as well. They crashed to the floor, and he proceeded to shake the living daylights out of the sordid tosser pinned beneath him, yelling at the top of his lungs, eyes white and struck through to the core with rage.

"You will give me that phone, and I will delete that photo before you or anyone else—" He paused, noticing something odd. The brunet was beneath him, shaking—but not in fear. He was sniggering uncontrollably, a hand over his mouth as though to deter louder guffaws. Momentarily befuddled, his brows crinkled as his hands ceased their violent movements, although his fingers remained curled around the leather they held.

"Haha, Artie! Too bad~! I already sent a copy to Gil, just in case!" That unendurable yank was leering at him, again, and he scowled in response, opening his mouth to raise his voice once more. A fingertip on his scarcely-parted lips stopped him, and not a moment after he realized it his cheeks inflamed themselves without his permission, rendering him effectively hushed.

"Ah, ah!" The American waved his other pointer finger in the shorter man's face, that mocking smirk growing to resemble something closer to a beaming smile. Lord, it even reached his eyes! Arthur was just marveling over that when the bloke's voice continued, abhorrently pleased with itself and yet still managing to ooze with fake adoration.

"I know you missed me, honey, so can we skip the pleasantries and get straight to kissing~?" Then the freshman puckered his lips and leaned up.

He was off him faster than a new model off a normal diet. Of course, his face had only bloomed yet more scarlet at the insinuation, and he stammered uselessly before stomping off in a hurry, jerking open the door to the mailroom—oops. He unlocked it with the key attached to one of his belt loops—quite composedly, thank you very much!—then jerked the door open and stomped angrily inside, slamming it behind him.

The mail clerk ignored the gleeful giggles sounding from the other side of the counter, paying no mind as the American pushed himself up from the floor only to proceed to laze all over the high desk. He positively overlooked the fact that he was being ogled by that divvy lad as he went about his work, instead rather professionally gathering all of the bloke's mail from the correct box with silent dignity. The blond strode back just as sedately, not looking up and skimming through the mail for any package slips. Ah, perhaps it was his lucky day. There were none.

Smiling benignly, green eyes not visible when half-mooned into such happy shapes as they were, he slammed that bloody tosser's head into the counter with the force of a thousand men (and his mail), the air behind him broiling with anger and darkness as he hissed down to the boy now whining and rubbing the bump on his head.

"If you show that to anyone else, I swear by Her Majesty the Queen, I will—" Alfred waved a hand in his face, and he blinked upon spying a flash of red, surprised.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you Brits and your Queen, I know, she's all—"

"What is that." Alfred's eyes blinked back at him in bewilderment.

"Huh?" Eyes narrowing slightly, the blond reached out a hand, grabbing the end of the lad's jacket sleeve and jerking the cuff up. Alfred wrenched his arm back, but the damage was done. Guarded jade followed the action, before rising to edgy blue eyes curiously enough.

"Why are you… wearing that?" He'd thought the yank had forgotten it, left it there—hell, he'd forgotten about it until he got back to the apartment and realized he was without his second wristband. He'd just flung it at the boy in an attempt to save face, not really thinking about it. Now, without warning, the American blushed and he found he had to stare. It was just slight, the barest tint of red over his well-defined cheekbones, but—

"I-I… well, you gave it to me, right?" One of the yank's hands rubbed the back of his head. Arthur noted that his gaze was firmly fixed on the ground, as well. Strange as it was, he found himself fighting a touched smile. After a moment or two, he also glanced to the side, mouth still feeling unnaturally soft.

"Ah… yes. I suppose so." There was a strangely warm flutter in the area of his heart—he was familiar with it, though, and after a moment quashed it back into nonexistence. There was silence between them, and so he took to going about doing various mailroom chores or studying. For once, Alfred was quiet, and he found he could tolerate his presence without being distracted. Sometimes they talked, although it was about shallow things: musical interests, or whatever else they could find a common ground on. The blond dealt with a few students coming to retrieve their packages, and for these his brown-haired friend politely stepped back from the counter, only to return when the other students left. It was at the end of his shift, just as he was locking the metal blinds, when Alfred spoke up.

"Um… so, Arthur…" He clicked the lock into place, then removing the key and glancing behind him, blinking slightly.

"Yes?" The toe of a sneaker scuffed on the tile beneath, and he fought a faintly amused smile at the childish action. It was good he did, too, because a moment later bright sapphire fell on him.

"Halloween's in a couple of weeks…" Ah. So that was what it was. He walked over to the mailroom door, unlocking it and stepping inside to retrieve his knapsack and coat, as always. The upperclassman dutifully locked the door behind him, before lifting his gaze back to his by-now fidgeting companion.

"Yes, it is. Your point?" The words lacked any real annoyance to them this time—mere patience lining them, instead—and he began to pull on his coat.

"Uh…" There was that wee bit of red over the brunet's cheeks, again, and the blond's lips did a weird little curve at one of their corners. He smothered that as soon as Alfred looked at him again, though, expression feigning uncomprehending innocence. The taller boy smiled, lopsided.

"Well. Uh. Luca, my suite mate, has this friend of his who practically runs the frat house next door. You know the one?" Arthur nodded, quiet. He did. He'd been working here for three years, after all. He tugged on either side of his jacket's collar with equal force, straightening the way it sat on his shoulders.

"Well, uh… they're hosting this Halloween party the weekend after next. Luca said he can get us in for free, so if you'd like to…"

The sentence hung in the air between them—but apparently Arthur's response took too long, because Alfred grew uncomfortable and started to wave one hand to try and persuade him to agree, voice earnest and gaze tense. Worried.

"But, uh—you don't have to come if you don't want to! I mean, it starts at seven on Saturday night so you wouldn't miss any classes, and it's a costume party and 'cause it's the frat house there'll be beer but you don't have to drink if you don't want to and—" Gentle fingers paused the rambling, the Brit's hand raised for silence in front of him as he shook his head, gaze casting aside.

"No… No, that's fine." It wasn't really an answer, and Alfred licked his lips uneasily, seeking confirmation.

"So… are you coming, or—" There was silence for another moment. It was almost as though the blond was uncomfortable agreeing, but that couldn't be… right? He didn't receive a verbal confirmation, anyway—just a little blush on the Brit's face as he nodded. A little shakily, Alfred's lips curled into a ghost of his usual smile.

"O-Okay, cool. I guess I'll see you…" He made to turn, then, and took a few steps away before he heard a soft tone.

"…hey." He turned, a little surprised to see Arthur more concerned with doing up the buttons on his coat instead of looking at him. For a moment he thought he'd imagined the small voice, but then his friend leaned to pick up his bookbag, shouldering it and pinning him with a hesitant pair of green eyes. He waited, trying not to be impatient and only watching as the Brit glanced quietly towards the floor.

"I'll—see you tomorrow, then?" It was more of a question, despite the phrasing, and he felt a little warmth climb up into his chest and settle there as he beamed.

"Yeah, sure! See ya then, Artie!" As the American at last turned and strode away with a wave over his shoulder to the one behind him, he heard a muttered curse.

"Prat… that's not my name…"

Alfred grinned a little wider and his steps sprang a little higher, after that.

: : :

There wasn't much time in the following fortnight to be nervous over the coming party, however. This was crunch-time, the first great hurdle of the semester—it seemed all of his professors had decided to either have an exam or a paper due, so he was over-worked and over-stressed, sparing Alfred barely a glance when he showed up at his mailroom shift the next Friday. Perhaps he was a bit snappish, but they spent a little more time together the following Saturday with the American being his usual idiot self and nicking his football from him. Of course, he was forced to chase the prick around the field—but, perhaps it had been a slight bit enjoyable. It was a good way to release stress, although by the end of the next week he was buried in paperwork again, only passably registering the boy's presence when he showed up around one, again. The Brit'd informed him, quite briskly, that he had no foolish time for his shenanigans, needed this time to study if there were no students requiring help with their mail and bent back over his philosophy readings, taking painstaking notes in order to remember the finer points and wrangle a good mark.

He spent the latter part of that Friday night pouring over his cheap, second-hand laptop, typing furiously to belt out the required six pages for his philosophy assignment. He'd answered his creative writing prompt some hours earlier, and it was all set to be turned in at class on Tuesday, only needing to be printed out at one of the computer labs on campus. The psychology exam scheduled for Monday he'd been studying for every day, now, and figured he was quite well-prepared. Thank god the chemistry exam wasn't until Wednesday! Math really wasn't his strongest subject, but it was an introductory course and really not all that hard. Part of what they covered he recalled from his secondary school's chemistry class, even, and that was only a little over four years ago! The Brit muttered a quick thanks to whatever had decreed that his linguistics paper not be due until the Tuesday of the week after. It seemed everything else was due the first week of November!

Now, then, this paper. Writing really wasn't hard for him, but time did have to be set aside and all of the points did have to be stated. Other than that, philosophy only required an articulate mind and a good tongue for argument, and he certainly wasn't lacking in either. Hours later, finished at last and utterly exhausted, he glanced at the clock and groaned. How in good Heaven's name did it get to be so late? Arthur pushed his reading glasses up onto his forehead, rubbing a hand over his face with a sigh. Glancing out the window in his small room, he could note the faintest pink tinge over the sky. Yes, far too late. He let the spectacles drop down, again, blearily attached the file to an e-mail and sent it to himself. He could print it out on Monday at a computer lab on campus, and hand it in to class on Thursday night. The blond mentally patted himself on the back, congratulating himself that he'd actually got it done ahead of schedule, and decided now was the best time for some well-deserved sleep. It was Saturday, after all. He could afford to sleep in. And with the sky growing ever lighter, that might be the healthiest option. He'd been losing a lot of sleep this week, too. Arthur opted for a quick shower, just to get the sweat and grime of the day off, before brushing his teeth, pulling on his pajamas and crawling to bed. He glanced at the clock, groaning again at the time—it was after eight-blooming-thirty!—before just collapsing onto the soft mattress, head buried face-down into the pillow. The poor student was snoring within moments.

: : :

"Well some things you can expla-ain away! But the heartache's in me 'til this da-ay-ay! Did you stand by me? No, not at all. Did you stand by me? No way—" [1]

The generic ringtone on his mobile woke him and the now-half-asleep Brit groaned unhappily, not opening his eyes and blindly whipping his hand out to feel around the table next to his bed in search of the suddenly-loud device.

"All the ti-imes. That we were close. I'll remember. These things the most. I see all my dreams come tumbling do—" [1]

"Graargh. ''oo tha bloody 'ell izzis… ?" He growled none-too-pleasantly into the speaker, eyes still closed as he propped his head against the pillow and fervently wished that the person on the other line would die a slow, painful death. There was a pause. Was that stifled laughter?

"H-Hey, Artie! Happy Halloween~! Jeez, you aren't still sleeping are you? It's after six! I didn't see you today, so I just thought I'd call. You're still coming to the party tonight, right?"

The bottom of his stomach dropped out as his eyes flew open. Oh bollocks. The party. With classes and due dates and papers and tests hounding his life for the past fortnight—oh, hell! No wonder it'd slipped his mind! The Brit was wide awake by the time the last of Alfred's words sank in and cursed loudly, flinging the covers off and going straight for his dresser, rifling through it one-handed.

"Blast it!"

"Eh? Artie?" His mind raced. Didn't Alfred say it was a costume party?

"Shit, shit…" He muttered it, snapping irritably into the phone. "It's near your dorm, yes? Yes, I'll be there!" He hung up, flinging the mobile back on his bed before continuing to rifle through his clothes, hurriedly. He didn't have time to worry about a costume. At this rate, he'd be late! He recalled it started at seven… Oh, he'd be miserable and he'd stand out like a sore thumb—but, no! He'd promised Alfred he'd go, and it's not as though… His cheeks pinked. He hadn't had time for much relaxing in the past two weeks, and he did miss— He coughed, drawing out some vaguely festive attire—well, color-wise, at any rate. He didn't have many clothes besides his usual day-to-day ones, and at the moment he was sorely regretting having nothing less formal.

Minutes later, hastily combing a hand through his mussed bed hair and buttoning the top of his beige slacks with the other, he knocked on Ren's door. Hearing a sound of confirmation he burst inside, flapping his arms a bit.

"Ren! You've got to help me! I need a costume for a party in half an hour!" The Japanese boy blinked at him, canting his head to the side and running his eyes down the other's clothes. A dark green sweater vest over a pale orange button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. No tie, at least. The Asian lad, too polite to laugh, turned back to his computer screen without further pretense.

"Let us see what the Internet says, Arthur-san."

: : :

6:58 PM

Arthur blew in the doors of the common room, checking his watch as he did so and heaving a sigh of relief. Out of breath from sprinting through the campus to get to the dorm (he cursed the hills here!) he staggered over to a lounge chair and tumbled into it gratefully. None too soon, his mobile buzzed in his pocket. Naturally, he'd put it back on vibrate as soon as he left the apartment. No need for everyone in the world to hear his ringtone, after all. It was a bit rude, in his opinion, to subject complete strangers to random bursts of song whenever someone called you. Still slightly winded, he fished it out and put it to his ear.

"H-Hello?"

"Hey, Artie! We're heading out about now. Where are you?" Still a little out of it, he nodded.

"R-Right, then. I'm here. Common room."

"Oh, cool! Can't wait to see your costume! See ya soon, then!" He nodded again, hanging up as soon as he heard a dial tone, and flopped further into the lounge chair, resting the back of his head against the low back and staring at the ceiling miserably. His 'costume' was absolutely horrible. But, last minute, it was all he could do.

He hoped Alfred wasn't too disappointed.

: : :

He was so excited~! Arthur'd showed up! He'd been a little worried when it seemed he'd woken the guy up… but then again, the Brit'd been under a lot of pressure, lately. It was pretty obvious. He'd even missed showing up at the soccer field, today! The American shook his head to himself, flanked on either side by Luca and Gilbert, both in their best costumes. The stupid over-achiever must've stayed up all night finishing a paper, or something… A slight smile tugged at his face. He wished he had that kind of work ethic, sometimes.

"What, daydreamin' 'bout your boyfriend, Al~?" An arm slung around his shoulders and an annoying, harsh laugh in his ear made him shove at the guy, narrowing his eyes towards the albino dressed unrepentantly as a Schutzstaffel officer. The black military-style hat made his white hair all the more noticeable.

"Shut up, Gil! He's not my boyfriend!" His red-eyed room mate cackled, saluting mockingly. The costume really was a good one, insignias authentic and decorated in all the right parts. It was basically a white collared shirt with a black tie, a black military jacket over top of both, a black belt with a large square silver buckle and, of course, black pants tucked into super-shined jet-black boots.

"That's good, sir! Otherwise I'd have to gas you for being a homosexual!" Barking laughter echoed around them in the elevator as he tousled with the guy for that, trying to steal his hat.

"Oh, no no~! You should stop fighting, we're going to a party!" Luca's little hands patted at their arms, trying to placate them as he smiled childishly, eyes appearing perpetually closed. The slight-framed man was innocently cross-dressing as a beer fraulein, his auburn hair curled and waved and that one odd curl sticking out in front. The outfit was very feminine, a short ruffled green skirt with gold trim and a little white apron over his lap. There was even a brown corset, laced up with pink cords and the lacy, low-cut shirt's puffed sleeves slipped down a little over his shoulders—of course, the high stockings with matching pink bows at the tops made it a bit more girlish (as well as the high-heeled black Mary Janes). Gil had tried to tease him about it, but failed utterly when he'd said Luca 'looked like a girl'. The Italian had considerably brightened, flailing at him in happiness.

"T-Then you think Hartmut will think so, too? I heard he's wearing German lederhosen and I wanted to match… Ve, ve~! We'll be just like a couple~~!"

The American just shook his head at the memory, tugging on his leather vest a bit. He glanced down, shifting his legs a bit. The matching dark brown leather chaps with fringe at the seam lines on the outsides of his legs fit snugly over his jeans, the ends of brown cowboy boots peeking out from beneath the cuffs at the bottom. Two belts were wrapped around his waist, one really just the top of the chaps that kept them together. The other was also attached, but thin, and buckled around his abdomen. He had a blue pinstriped button-up shirt tucked into the tops of his jeans, but only really the sleeves and his stomach were visible beneath the vest. He had his sleeves tightly rolled up just past his elbows, a red bandana tied around his neck, and the predictable cowboy hat perched atop his head back at an angle so as to not push his bangs into his face. The cord hung loosely under his chin, ready to save the hat from being lost should it topple from its precarious position. It wasn't too much different than the costume he'd worn a few years ago, really. Then again, he'd been a cowboy for Halloween for easily half his life! He grinned to himself, puffing out his chest and proud of that little fact.

The elevator doors dinged in front of them and he strode out, his suite mates flanking him. Gil in his Nazi uniform was on his right, Luca the 'Bier Fraulein' on his left. As they approached the security desk (since they were going out, they didn't need to show ID) he started to search through the glass, scanning the common room for the Brit extra-carefully, as he might not be easily recognizable…

There weren't really a lot of people in the room, and none of them looked too ready to go to a Halloween party. There was one guy off in the corner who looked like the stress of midterms was getting to him, though. Frowning, he turned to the two behind him.

"Maybe he went to the bathroom, or something. You guys go on ahead, I'll be right there." They nodded, Luca fluttering away and Gil pausing to give him a knowing smirk (what?) before they disappeared out the entryway doors. Out of habit, he walked over to the closed mailroom desk, leaning back against the wall beside it and sticking his hands in his pockets. He glanced at the bathroom only a little ways away and settled in to wait.

It was after a few minutes that he frowned, and pulled out his cell, dialing the Brit's number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Art. Where are you? I've been waiting here for the past few minutes, and—" Out of the corner of his vision, he saw someone jerk up from a lounge chair. He turned his head, blinking as the guy's frantically searching eyes—green, aha!—settled on him. Despite his slight impatience with having waited for no reason, Alfred smiled, hanging up, sticking his cell in his pocket and raising a hand to wave as he walked over.

"Hey, Artie! I thought—" He stopped, blinking. Arthur looked the same as he always did, nothing special. Well, he did sort of look like fall (or the reverse of a pumpkin), what with that dark green sweater vest and pale orange button-up shirt and the beige slacks, but the only thing that was really different was the sign hung around his neck that fell to his chest. The words "Nudist on strike" looked like they'd been scribbled in a hurry, the card really just a piece of cardboard with holes punched in it for the yarn holding it on.

: : :

He glued his eyes to the tiled floor in shame, wanting to sink into it and disappear, feeling only more awkward at seeing how elaborate the American's costume was. Miserably, he started to babble, feeling his face already going red from the disgrace of it all.

"I-I'm sorry I don't have a better costume, b-but with exams and work I—"

"You forgot." His heart twisted in guilt, and, unable to form the words, he just nodded, looking further away on the ground.

"I-I'm sor—" He was suddenly engulfed in a big hug, coughing in surprise as his eyes widened and he was squeezed.

"Hey, Art. Stop apologizing. It's okay, yeah?" The yank pulled back, smiling warmly at him. "What matters is you came!" Flushing again, he nodded, looking down. Then suddenly he barked out a response, turning and stomping out towards the doors, blatantly ignoring his flaming cheeks.

"W-Well come on, then! We're already late, I'd hate to think—"

Happy laughter met his ears as the light-haired brunet trotted after him.

7:06 PM

The short, very grumpy-looking dark-haired boy (dressed as a mafia hit man from the 1930s, fake Tommy gun propped over his shoulder) at the door with a list eyed their costumes for a moment. He waved Alfred in, but as Arthur went to follow he put a hand on his shoulder. Blinking, surprised, the blond glanced back at the man's scowling face.

"That costume's crap. You can't come in like that." Sputtering, and only vaguely aware of the fact Alfred had stopped in front of the door to wait for him and was observing this, he spat a reasonable excuse.

"W-Well, I'm sorry I was more focused on my studies than—" The Italian waved a hand, making a gesture in the air, and soon two sets of hands grabbed the Brit's upper arms, lifting him off his feet. He squawked, trying to struggle free.

"U-Unhand me, you hooligans!" The doorman just smirked.

"Nah. We're going to have to give you a little… help." Gazing evilly at Arthur he motioned with his pen, dismissively. "Take this guy upstairs. You know which room, right? He'll be happy to have a vic—client." The blond's eyes widened in uncertainty at his fate. Sneering softly, the door guard wriggled his fingers in a mock wave as the now shouting, cursing blond was toted away by his frat brothers (wearing identical American army camo uniforms). Well, he was sneering—until a hand thumped down on his shoulder. He reflexively bristled, throwing a glare over his shoulder.

"What the fuck is y—!"

"Where are you taking him." Blue eyes were narrowed at him from beneath a very intimidating cowboy hat, and Marco felt a small jolt of fear before playing it off with a bluff, brushing the guy's hand off his shoulder uncaringly and going back to his list, checking off their names on the VIP list he held. Anyone who wasn't on that list paid to get in, after all. The fraternity had to make money for the fundraiser somehow.

"Calm down. We're just going to let him borrow a costume for the party so he's 'properly attired' and all that shit. He'll be back in a few."

7:18 PM

Two of his suitemates shuddered next to him, as they stood by the snack table. The stoic, broad-shouldered man quietly took in their matching costumes from the corner of his eye, still slightly miffed that Nikolai had chosen their costumes specifically after he'd learned of his own. They were the three little pigs (denoted only by the pig ears on their heads, the small curly tails at their backsides, and the snouts pinned over their noses). The one holding a handful of straw in his hand (which incidentally matched his hair) was small and easily the shortest, quivering next to the glasses-wearing and stick-bearing one who was nodding in agreement with something Nikolai said in his deceptively sweet voice. The Russian was tossing a brick cheerfully back and forth in his hands. He himself was actually a few centimeters taller than his white-haired suitemate (the black ears added a bit of height, as well), and not at all intimidated by Nikolai's implied threats. The taller man was simply a little annoyed that the man had decided to introduce him as—

"Ah, hello~! Can you see what we are? The three little pigs and the Big Bad Wolf!"

"'m n't th't w'lf…" He muttered, eyes casting around the room in hope of an escape. He'd decided only to stay with poor Raivis and Eduard until something else found his interest. He had no intention of getting roped into Nikolai's manipulative scheming and would not allow his pity for the two younger boys to land him in the Russian's clutches. His eyes fell on a pair of newcomers by the door. One was in a (red and black flannel shirt, denim jeans, hiking boots, brown suspenders and a brown, fur-lined trapper hat) lumberjack costume. He almost smiled (but didn't, quite) at the stuffed polar bear clutched to the boy's side in lieu of an axe. The short blond boy beside him, however…

The stoic man's eyes widened. It couldn't be. No, what were the odds of someone in America actually knowing that old cartoon? But that particular blue hat, and the tawny brown bear ears, as well as the paws on the boy's hands and poking out from those matching, oversized blue overalls— He was striding slowly over before he knew it, only vaguely hearing Raivis' wailing calls for him not to leave as well as Nikolai's curious (and almost slightly angry) voice.

"B-Berwaaald! Nooo, don't leave us—"

"Eh? Where are you going~?"

: : :

"I-I don't know what to do here, eh?" The flustered boy flailed a little, the long flyaway curl bobbing in front of his face as bright violet eyes stayed on him, nervous and unsure. The light-haired brunet's voice was scarcely above a whisper, as though he were straining not to be too loud. "I-I've never been to a… a party like this…" His blond room mate smiled cheerily at him, patting his back warmly.

"Aw, Mattie, it'll be fine~! See, there's lots of nice people here, and games—" A shadow fell over them, and he glanced up as Matthew squeaked softly and raised his stuffed bear over his face, trembling and attempting to hide. The person was approaching them was quite tall, and looked… rather fearsome. Well, firstly part of that had to do with his costume, no doubt! He was dressed all in black clothing, a long wolf snout propped over his real nose and triangular black ears atop his head. A matching wolf tail swished out behind him as he walked, stopping right before them. His face was a little stony, though, and he seemed to be glaring through his glasses—the much shorter blond straightened, staring up at the other boy bravely but otherwise greeting him happily enough and not showing at all that he was a little scared.

"Hello! Who are you?" Turquoise eyes stared down at him, and he had to fight the urge to cling to Matthew and whimper, as well. But he didn't, darn it! He met that stare, the smile on his face firm and friendly. After a short pause, a black-pawed hand rose, gesturing softly at the weird, slightly-floppy bright blue hat on his head between the pair of round, brown bear ears.

"'re y''… B'mse?" The short blond blinked, tipping his head to the side. Was that a blush on that scary face?

"Er—What? 'Bumse'? ...Oh!" His eyes widened, and he gasped in pleasant surprise, clapping a brown paw to his mouth. "O-Oh! Bamse! You recognize me?" He flushed as the taller blond nodded solemnly and beamed in utter delight. It diminished a little bit as that black wolf paw gestured back to the stoic guy and he leaned forward inquisitively to hear better, those turquoise eyes still focused on his own bluer ones.

"'m V'rg'n." Taking a moment to process the implied vowels in that mumble, his eyes widened again and he flailed a little in excitement.

"O-O-Oh! Are you Vargen?" Another nod and he laughed, cheerfully hooking his elbow through one of the wolf's', casting his bright smile back towards his room mate. "Hey, Mattie! This guy—" Oh. He blinked, looking around. His lumberjack-room mate was nowhere in sight. He shook his head, then looked back up towards the taller boy beside him with another happy grin.

"Well, we'll run into him later! Hi there! What's your name? I'm Tino~!" He knew that guy wasn't so bad when those turquoise eyes almost-smiled down to him and he was very carefully guided along through the crowd of people. The elbow linked through his own was rather hard and powerful, but oh-so-very gentle and cautious of hurting him. Again, was that a blush as the taller man looked away?

"…'m B'rw'ld."

7:38 PM

"Ahhh, ah, I can't believe Berwald left us! And it's my birthday, too…" Nikolai pouted, mumbling softly into his scarf before glancing down to his side at the other little pigs. His smile was bright and pure. They quaked, for some reason. "Ne, I'm glad you guys want to stay with me~!" He walked over behind them, placing a hand on either of their shoulders (the one holding the brick on Raivis') and announcing their plans, cheerfully.

"Let's go greet that cowboy over there~! I don't believe we've met, yet~~"

: : :

Alfred was talking to Francis, shaking his head a bit. His RA was dressed in some medieval attire (puffy blue sleeves, pantaloons, silly plumed hat, the whole shebang) and going around with a 'delicate' silk rose that smelled vaguely of rose-scented perfume.

"I dunno, man. You just seem to… bring out the worst in him, or something. He's not that bad." The Frenchman waved a hand, casting a charming smile his way.

"Oh, mon cher, you don't need to explain that rosbif to me~! I very well know that—"

"Aha, Francis~!" That voice sounded far too delighted and he instantly stiffened, glancing over his shoulder. Just his luck. He stayed completely still, not daring to turn around just yet even if it felt dangerous having his back to the huge, violet-eyed student.

"B-B-Bonjour, Nikolai~! Raivis, Eduard, are you enjoying the—" The Russian leaned down, interrupting him even though his face was pleasant. He somehow still managed to exude a horrifying miasma with that expression.

"I trust no more vodka is missing from my room, da~? That would be a horrible breach of both personal property and security and I wouldn't wish to have to report that—" The American blinked, staring at the nervous Frenchman in front of him.

"Hey, wait… Francis… you stole that vodka from this guy's room?" The RA jumped to his own defense, stirring to life and flinging himself behind Alfred's shoulder, pointing wildly at the innocently beaming Russian.

"C-Confiscated! H-H-He's not supposed to have alcohol on campus property!"

"Oh, but Francis, we both know I am old enough to legally do so, da?" That sunny smile didn't waver and the light-haired brunet frowned, glancing over his shoulder at the anxiety-ridden RA.

"Really, Francis? That's pretty lame of you." The Frenchman shrieked and sped off. The American blinked, then scratched his head and glanced towards the trio with a light smile.

"Eh, sorry about that. So, who're you guys? Guess you're on my floor since you know Francis, but…" It looked like the shortest one with the straw in his hands wanted to answer, but the tallest one pressed his hand down on his head (it had a brick, Alfred noted) and beamed towards him.

"This is Raivis. And this—" He patted the glasses-wearing student's head, and the boy offered a shaky, forced smile. "—is Eduard. They are my suite mates. I am Nikolai."

"Oh." Grinning in a friendly manner, the American stuck out his hand. "Nice ta meet'cha, then, Nick-o!" There was an awkward pause, and the blue-eyed boy blinked as it seemed the air thickened. Soon it dispersed, though, and the Russian student smiled back at him happily, also sticking his hand out. They shared a very—firm handshake.

"The same for me, friend. Perhaps you would like to come visit, somet—"

"BLOODY HELL! NO! I REFUSE! GET THAT AWAY FROM ME, YOU SODDING—" As loud as that voice was, the music abruptly stopped and everyone in the room looked up towards the second floor. A door banged open, and loud footsteps could be heard coming down the hall. As soon as the guy came into sight, Alfred gasped, his mouth dropping open.

"A-Arthur… ?"

7:11 PM (Earlier)

Of all the… The Brit muttered to himself, sitting alone on a fancy chair in the middle of the room with his arms crossed sulkily over his chest. The sign had been ripped off and tossed in the trash on the way up the stairs. He couldn't exit, the 'guards'—or whatever they were—saying menacingly that they'd be standing just outside the door. He actually hadn't been there more than a few minutes before there was a knock at the door, and the blond turned to watch as it opened. His brows rose as a smiling, dark-haired Hispanic man in a black eye-mask glided in and tossed off his sombrero. His costume was entirely in black, his shirt a loosely-threaded baggy tunic that dipped in a revealing 'V' over his chest. A matching cape fluttered around the tops of his boots and revealed the sheathed (and no doubt fake) saber at his side. As he whisked the cape dramatically off his shoulders, the man waved his hands energetically with wide, sweeping gestures and welcomed him with a bright tone.

"Buenos noches~! Ah, what have we here…" The Spaniard clicked his tongue, shaking his head and walking forward. Fleetingly, Arthur cast a longing glance towards the closing door and the small glimpse of hallway and freedom beyond. "My, my, you really didn't spend much time on your costume, did you?" That too-cheery voice brought him back, and the Brit jumped out of his chair in surprise as the man picked up his sleeve and tugged at the material lightly.

"Wh-What are you—!" Another tutting sound, and the Hispanic shook his head, stepping back.

"My, my, what do we have that would fit you, I wonder…" A finger tapped at the frat boy's chin, his eyes raking up and down Arthur's form. He suddenly felt very exposed, feeling his cheeks flush in indignation. Before he could say anything, though, those dark eyes lit up, and the Spaniard snapped his fingers.

"Ah, I've got it!" The dark-haired man hurried out of the room and into a closet at the other end, and Arthur glanced askance at the door, slowly beginning to creep towards it. He was startled rather badly when the energetic man returned, beaming excitedly and holding something white over his arm with a pair of accompanying sandals. Arthur felt his heart sink into his toes and put his hands up in front of him, backing away towards the wall with wide eyes.

"N-Now w-w-what are you planning on—" The Spaniard jumped him.

"Why, dressing you, of course, mi amigo~!" He didn't have a chance, only able to squeak as his vest was swiftly stripped off over his head. When nimble fingers landed on the buttons of shirt, though, he shrieked, catching them and then clutching the fabric together with one hand, holding out his other.

"I-I understand! At least give me privacy!" The other man gave him a curious smile, tipping his head but nodding nonetheless and dropping the costume into his open palm. He politely walked to the middle of the room and turned his back on the Englishman, whistling happily. Muttering to himself, the flaxen-haired clerk cast a suspicious smile towards the other man before also turning his back, sighing at the piece of white fabric in his hand. He slowly finished unbuttoning his shirt, slipping it off, then carefully started to tug the weird outfit on over his head. Partially swallowed up by the costume, he blinked. Was there only… one armhole? Brows furrowing, he tried anyway, slipping an arm through the hole available and straightening it as best he could. He looked down at himself, and almost twitched.

It was a toga—a very short toga, falling to only a little above his knees. More than that, the only sleeve was the one draped over his left, leaving his right shoulder exposed. Granted, it did cover his chest, but his arms were completely bare and without his slacks his legs would be, too! Blushing furiously, the affronted Brit turned around to give this stupid pervert a piece of his mind!

"What is this?" The Hispanic turned around and clapped his hands over his mouth.

"¡canastos! My, it really suits you, doesn't it?" The masked man smiled, tipping his head again, and started to step forward. "Your eyes add a splash of color, and your hair and complexion do go well with white… Although something's missing, hm." He tapped his chin again, watching him—then shrugged, pointing a finger at Arthur's pants. "But those will have to go." Eyes going white, the Brit backed up further, shaking his head and raising his hands again.

"W-What? No!" Brown eyes blinked at him as the black-clad man paused in his advance.

"Are you not wearing underwear?" The mailroom clerk flushed, barking out another hiss. This man was really starting to get on his nerves!

"Of course I am! What do you think, I—"

"¡vamos!~" The dark-haired man had just lunged at him again, knocking him to the floor and pushing up his toga to get at his pants. The Brit thrashed, struggling and trying to shove him off.

"Sod off, you—!"

It was at that moment the door chose to open and have someone step inside. Their heads whirled simultaneously to take in this new arrival. The man before him was decked out in a scarily-accurate purple princess costume, copying—of all the commercialized bollocks!—Princess Jasmine's wedding outfit from the first Aladdin movie. The blond felt a sad eye twitch that he even recognized it. The only real difference from the movie was the man's very-clearly-not-Arabian skin and the shoulder-length blond hair framing his face. Despite this, Arthur still felt the hope of salvation bubble in his throat, opening his mouth to— The other blond rushed forward with wide eyes, gesturing energetically. As soon as the euphoria of a quick escape had come, it died.

"Omigosh, Toni! That is, like, so rad!" The Latino beamed over his shoulder at his (Arthur realized this with trepidation) friend, still attempting to restrain the Brit beneath him who had abruptly renewed his efforts to escape with naught less than single-minded fervor.

"Hola, Feliks! Th-That's a lovely costume! Could you give me a hand here~?" Unfortunately for Arthur, the two of them combined managed to get his pants off. Blushing, he had his feet peeled of their socks and shoes and sandals slipped on them. He was pulled up to stand, and the two stylists stepped back to admire their handiwork. The Spaniard was looking thoughtful and tapping his chin, again, while the blond Jasmine-look-alike had his hands on his hips and was scrutinizing him rather intently. Bashful at the attention, his brows angled down towards one another as he rubbed his left upper arm with a hand, acutely aware of its bare state as well as the fact there were no pants shielding his legs from view. Thank god he'd worn his new pair of white boxers, today! Anything darker might have been embarrassingly visible.

Feliks clapped his hands together, and Arthur started in surprise, although Toni only cast a curious glance towards his fellow brother.

"He, like, totally needs wings!" Arthur felt his face lose color as the Spaniard started babbling in excitement, overcome as his brown eyes shone.

"Ah, you're right! And a halo! He could be an angel~!" They both nodded, sagely. Arthur felt his dignity slowly ebbing away as Toni advanced on him while Feliks went to fetch the needed items.

He was not expecting the Polak to return with not only wings and a halo, but a bloody fairy wand with a yellow star at the end of it. Fate sure liked to mock him, didn't it? Toni commented on it as well, but the flamboyant blond only grinned lazily and said it matched. The Brit had to fight the urge to put his head in his hands. If only he'd remembered the party was today earlier! Perhaps then he would've already had a 'proper' costume and thus been spared from this horror...

"No way, Toni! Fer sure, glitter would be, like, so completely—ya know?"

7:44 PM (Now)

"Bloody hell! No! I refuse! Get that away from me, you sodding—!" He had to draw the line at glitter, and shoved the two stylists out of his way as he burst through the door and it banged against the wall, green eyes scanning the hallway for an escape route. He noticed the stairway and made a run for it, but as soon as he poked past the wall… He was suddenly very aware that everyone in the room below was staring at him. His face heated immediately, all too aware of how he looked and how everyone must have heard what he just— Embarrassed, he coughed into his hand—almost poking himself in the eye with that damn wand in the process! The crowd below him tittered and he scowled to cover his mortification, ignoring his flaming face and stomping down the stairs. To his great chagrin, the party-goers parted for him so he was forced to spin around to address the bulk of the room, self-conscious sweat beading on his temple.

"What are you all looking at? Bugger off!" He didn't even see Alfred… h-he hadn't left him here, had he? Trudging over to the nearest table, he grabbed a filled, untouched red plastic party cup and tilted his head back, downing the tan liquid inside as quickly as he could. Hell, if Alfred wasn't here he didn't want to remember this night. The crowd cheered around him, and soon the small conversations taking place on the sides (as well as the music) resumed, and the spotlight shifted off him. Finishing what was left in the plastic cup, he thumped it back down on the table, staring at it with a frown as he felt a little more heat rush into his cheeks. He leaned forward, one hand still around that plastic cup (which someone was so nicely refilling for him), pinning that blasted fairy wand against the flat surface with his fist curled around its handle.

"H-H-Hey, Artie!" He whipped his head around and felt the suspended halo jiggle a little with the quick movement, spying a tell-tale cowboy hat headed his way. Flushing again—and for no apparent reason—he turned and ran, suddenly needing a much cooler place to think. He barely noticed he took the re-filled cup with him. He didn't get far, though, having just reached the stairway when a hand wrapped around his wand arm at the elbow and stalled his retreat. He glared behind him, expecting to see—Oh. Black sombrero, black cape and costume. Low V-neck tunic, black eye-mask—Toni. He glared harder, bunging off the other man's hand and brandishing the wand at him.

"You! You—"

"Aaah, you're not leaving yet, are you, mi amigo? And after we spent so much time on your costume…" The Spaniard looked truly sad, and he ground out a growl, poking him in the chest with that stupid star.

"I didn't ask you to do that, and furthermore—"

"Hey! Hands off, Fairy!" He started, garbled something and looked around. The Italian doorman was making his way over to them, glaring fiercely and dragging his fake Tommy gun along behind him. "Leave him alone!" Arthur sputtered, floundering a bit.

"I—I beg your pardon? This man—" The Italian slung an arm over the Hispanic's shoulders, slumping delinquently and raising an eyebrow at him.

"Did a damn fine job of making you look presentable. You going to take off, so soon? Bastard. At least finish that beer in your hand—" He'd honestly forgotten about it and continued shaking his wand at the pair, that Spaniard looking far too content and happy in his opinion.

"I don't need to—!" His words died in his throat as the 1930s-gangster-look-alike dragged the black-clad Latino down. Toni made a small sound of surprise, but unhesitatingly ducked his head towards the impromptu kiss, his massive sombrero cutting off the visual when they got close enough. Arthur's whole face flushed, and he threw back his second beer before hastily jetting off somewhere else, anywhere but where that public display was— Another hand caught his arm, a breathless voice in his ear.

"Artie! Damn, why'd you—" Cheeks growing only pinker, he glanced meekly behind him, trying futilely to pull his arm from that warm hand.

"I-I… it…" He dropped his gaze to the floor, half-hearted struggles abandoned. Alfred relaxed the hold on his arm, instead slinging it over his shoulders, gently. A soft tone followed.

"Hey… you okay? Need a break?" He nodded, the blush taking over his entire face as he let the yank lead him away towards the back door, where they could pop out for a bit of fresh air, away from all the music and hustling bodies. He tried not to think about how he could feel that stupid git's warmth against his skin. Only the pin-striped sleeves on the yank's upper arms separated the rest of the limb from his own.

: : :

"Y'know, that…" He picked his gaze up from the floor, glancing over towards the American seated beside him. Alfred reached up and pulled the rim of his cowboy hat down further over his face. The blond blinked as he heard a mutter. His brows wrinkled downward in confusion, and he leaned in a little to hear better.

"I'm… sorry? What was that?" Another mumble, and he grew a little impatient, swatting the lad's arm. "Come out and say it clearly, you pillock!" To that, the yank's head shot up and he was met with a slightly-pink face and a defiant glare—that seemed to turn white as soon as he realized how close the Brit had come while he wasn't looking.

"I—I… hey, you've had a coupla beers, yeah? Maybe you should take it easy from now on." The Brit frowned, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his nose, looking pointedly away. It was irritating enough that he couldn't lean back against the bench, due to those blasted wings back there.

"…Hmph. I suppose." He spied the cowboy rubbing the back of his neck, before Alfred clapped himself on the thighs and stood, casting Arthur a cocksure grin.

"Well! We've been out here for a while. Better get back to the party~!" And with that, he grabbed the blond's hand and dragged him back inside despite all protests to the opposite.

9:55 PM

He'd kept to his word. He hadn't had many more beers after the first two, as he took it slowly, finding a table in the corner and nursing one over the course of the next two hours. This was pleasant. Arthur didn't feel entirely out of control, but the world was floating nicely around him and he found many more things made him smile or laugh than usual. One of those things being Alfred—who was, quite frankly, pissed.

"'dis one's fer youuuu, Artie!" He smiled benignly, raising his fourth beer towards the idiot on stage about to start another round of karaoke. Most everyone around him was utterly sloshed, so he felt quite content and superior. Up on the make-shift stage Alfred grinned at him from over the red kerchief around his neck, squinting and giving him a thumbs-up. The intro began playing, some smooth rap song or something— Oh, wait. He vaguely recognized the tune and began to feel the first stirrings of dread.

"Girl you're my angel, you're my darlin', angel~ Closer than my peeps you are to mee~ Bay-bee-ee~ Shorty you're my angel, you're my darlin', angel—~" [2]

He felt his cheeks heat up as the crowd around him echoed with drunken laughter. D-Did that blasted tosser know what he was singing? He'd likely just seen the title of the damned song, and what with how he was currently dressed it was probable that… Rubbing at his face with his palm to try and diminish the heat there, Arthur stood, downed the rest of his drink and stalked towards the stage. There were more drunken giggles around him, and he felt the halo bounce a little as he hoisted himself up in front of the idiot. He glared at him, taking the fool's arm and pulling.

"Come, now! You're utterly plastered, and I won't have you up here embarrassing—" The brunet grinned at him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and completely ignoring the song, laughing loudly into the mike.

"Heeeey, you guuuys~! This here's m' angel! Don't no one touch him, yeah~? He's miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine~~" He giggled obnoxiously, and Arthur huffed, doing a valiant job of ignoring his further-reddening face, pulling one of the plonker's arms over his shoulders and tugging him away. The mike fell into the hands of an eager romantic (emboldened by the alcohol) who got up and continued the song for his girlfriend in the front row, who tittered and blew a kiss at him.

By gar, the lad was bloody heavy! He grumbled to himself as he made for the door, staggering a little as Alfred paused to laugh and wave at random people, continuously trying to pull himself in another direction. He grit his teeth, telling himself that he was repaying that damn debt from a few weeks ago, when Alfred had toted him home. They'd just about reached the door when that sodding American veered off, escaping his hold and stumbling erratically down an unlit hallway. He cursed, darting after him.

"You divvy yank! Get back here, you're—!" Warm hands pulled him into a dark, abandoned corner and he felt hot breath on the back of his neck as his bare legs were pushed against chap-leather. His face blossomed scarlet, but it felt a little too good and maybe it was the alcohol making him dizzy but he leaned back into the soft touches, hands falling to the ones around his waist with a small mumble and a slight attempt to push them off. "Y-You're—What're you—"

"Arthur." It was cooed into his ear, and he felt himself being moved. Soon enough he was pinned against where the wall met the corner, a knee pushed into the toga fabric between his legs in the semi-private darkness and the wings at his back crushed against that surface. There was only the faint light from the main room in this shady hall, but as his eyes began to adjust he started to make out lines in the face before him, soft curves that—

"Arthur." He shuddered at the huskily murmured sound of it, rough hands smoothing down his bare arms as the yank's face nestled against his neck, settling a few soft presses of lips there. The cowboy's knee moved, grinding gently against his crotch and he gasped, shoulder blades pushing back against the vertical ballast more as his hips arched reflexively into the touch. It was a tad uncomfortable, feather-covered molded plastic digging into his back. Busy fingers clumsily slid down his side, pawing gently at the fabric until they met thigh. Then they slowly ghosted upwards—

His eyes shot open, and he suddenly regained his sense.

Too fast. Much too fast!

"A-Alfred, s-stah—" Warm lips too close to a corner of his mouth cut off the sound and some inner voice cried out.

Is this our first kiss—?

He clenched his eyes shut, moving his head so that instead his cheek met those insistent lips. The halo's suspension device (basically a clear plastic circlet) jostled against his head as he was pressed against the wall.

No. I refuse. Even if… Even if he wouldn't… mind… kissing—the idiot before him, it was much too soon! They weren't even dating, and even if they were—Alfred was far too drunk to remember this in the morning. No. No. It couldn't be like this. He refused to cheapen what… whatever-it-was that was between them. No. W-When they were sober, p-p-perhaps if—

His train of thought disconnected as that knee moved upwards, again igniting the heat pooling in his stomach. The blond's head tipped back and inadvertently scraped the halo roughly against the wall as a soft groan escaped, a hushed word riding the end of it.

"N-N-No—" The Brit moved his hands, letting them wander shyly up to cup that stupid boy's cheeks. He forced him away from his neck with that hold, panting softly as he gazed down through slivers of jade and tried to ignore the persistent pressure on his groin and the warmth coiling up from there to blaze on his cheeks. Absently, his fingers brushed a few strands of hair from the younger man's face.

"Alfred." Hazed blue angled up at him and then there was a drunken version of that same wide smile and the boy leaned up to—hastily, he covered that mouth with his hand. None too soon! The back of that hand bumped against his own lips, and he gazed quietly into the clouded azure eyes beneath. Rough but gentle digits glided down and the knee removed itself as the cowboy's hands encircled his waist and Alfred adjusted himself a little, leaning his forehead against Arthur's and grinning fuzzily down towards him (the blond could tell, for the other's cheeks bubbled up), words a bit slurred.

"Yer m' angel… yeaaah~?" Those lips curved only more against his palm, dark blue glimmering mistily towards him and the Brit let out a slow breath, sparing the drunken freshman a humoring smile.

"Mm, of course. Now let's get you back to your room, yes?" There was a whine in the yank's throat and Arthur rolled his eyes, maneuvering himself so as to grab one of Alfred's arms and again prop it over his shoulder. They teetered a little on the short sidewalk stroll to Waltman Hall. They had just made it to the sign-in desk when he realized he was still in costume—and that his street clothes were back in the frat house. There was no way in hell he was going back in there, what with everyone still drunk and the room his clothes were in likely locked… Sighing, he signed himself in, presented Alfred's card to the guard for the inebriated student, and lugged him off towards the lift, trying to ignore the fact that the brunet's hands kept wanting to go around his waist.

They made it to the suite without incident, and he noticed idly that no one else was back, yet. He did hear a bit of music in one room—the one he passed by in the hallway—but no one came out to bother him, so he trekked on. He deposited the drunken college student on his proper bed, kneeling down to slide off the boy's shoes and socks. A hand in his hair messily plucked the circlet (and the attached halo) from his head, and he looked up, spying another vague smile. The older man frowned, straightening and going to the chaps and belts around the boy's waist. He flushed as his hands settled there, muttering something to justify himself as they went to work.

"It's just… you'll be more comfortable if I can just—" He got the belts for the leather chaps undone, thank god. There was no way he was going to try to get the boy out of his jeans, it would be too awkward. Peeling off the chaps, he easily undid the leather vest and started to slip it off, when he felt hands on his back and froze. But, apparently something had clicked about his earlier refusal in that dumb brain, and the fingers only somewhat clumsily slid the wings from his back, the elastic attachments now pressing into his upper arms. He took a step away, pulling off the wings and setting them off to the side with the halo and Alfred's folded chaps and vest. The blond reached up, carefully extracting the cowboy hat (it'd fallen a good while earlier, but the pull string prevented it from being lost) hanging from the brunet's neck. No sooner had he done this than those strong arms were around him, again, drawing him close and pressing his chin with mellow forcefulness into the taller man's shoulder, a voice murmuring sweetly in his ear.

"Mmmn… stay 'n sweet m' dreams…~?" Arthur almost scoffed at the corny line, his face reddening once more, but… He was still exhausted from the past two weeks, and tonight, really… and… he couldn't go wandering the streets dressed like this—and his change of clothes were next-door in the frat house, and… He sighed, giving in. It wasn't as though Alfred wasn't wearing pants, anyway, and neither of them were naked, although he was showing a bit more skin than he'd like. Face pinking, again, he shoved lightly at the boy's arms and they slowly loosened. Drawing back, he plucked the spectacles from the underclassman's face, looking away as he set them atop the dresser nearby.

"F-Fine—If it will get you to shut up and go to sleep!" He snapped, grouchily. There was an airy giggle, and Alfred squirmed about childishly on the sheets, kicking and tumbling under the covers, leaving an opening. Hesitantly, the blond slipped off his sandals and slowly padded towards the bed, heart thumping wildly with each step. When he was close enough, a hand reached out and grabbed his wrist. Soft, hazy azure eyes glimmered pleadingly at him from under sleepy lashes. He huffed, batting away the hand and climbing in beside the idiot, not quite… up to this. The Brit laid on his side with his back to the div, an arm propping up his head in order to forgo the intimate act of sharing a pillow. He was tense as he pulled the comforter sharply over them both, and for a moment there was only still silence. Then—an arm hooked over his waist, a hand settling faintly over his stomach. It dragged him kindly away from the very edge of the narrow twin-size mattress (where he'd settled), and there was soon a tender breath in his ear.

"Nigh', Art…" He responded gruffly, shifting a bit to get more comfortable, curling his knees up under himself defensively and most assuredly not giving into the urge to place a hand over the one resting at his hip. He closed his eyes, pensive. Nothing like this ever lasted. Well, not for him, at least. Perhaps he should… enjoy it while it lasted?

"Good night, you rat-arsed moron." He waited. Perhaps it was a while, or perhaps it only felt like it, but as soon as Alfred's breaths evened out and he was sure the bloke was asleep—he swallowed, quietly.

Trembling fingers moved with exaggerated caution, gingerly lighting atop the barest side of the larger digits beneath.

He fell asleep like that.

: : :

[1] – Train In Vain (by The Clash)

[2] – Angel (by Shaggy)

I don't own those songs, either! Please don't sue! Reviews would make me really, really, happy~!

Also, there's a poll up on my profile for possible future scenes. Go to it, and we'll see what happens! :3 -Fox