"Gōng, Cai; Grady, Ryan; Graham, Andrew; Guō, Richard; Harrison, Jie; Hasting, Lenny; Hasting, Seth-"

Arthur anxiously played with the hem of his sleeve as more names were counted up. He'd drawn the curtains to the carriage window closed, not wanting to look at the families' grieving faces. It was early in the evening, when the Jack had said they'd begin to announce the names of the fallen men. Black clouds darkened the sky. It looked like it would start raining at any moment. Not that it mattered; the hundred lanterns set on the ground would be protected by magic if that were to happen. The families of the dead sailors stood huddled together, seeking warmth and empathy, and Arthur could hear children sobbing quietly. He didn't want to see it. Much worse and greater losses were sure to come, but he allowed himself a quiet moment of ignorance. Ignorance was bliss, after all, if only momentarily.

He tried to drown out the sounds from the crowd, but as he heard the name Jameson be called up he immediately came to attention. They were already at J, meaning if Alfred's father was dead, he'd be announced soon – as Jones. Arthur silently prayed. Swallowing deeply, he pulled open the curtains and gazed up at the announcer, over the mourning people and lights. Yao stood diagonally behind him, wearing black and staring solemnly at the ground. His expression was pained, unlike when he'd broken the news to Arthur, when he'd remained sinfully calm. It was raining now – classical considering the occasion. Arthur already knew it'd be impossible to spot Alfred in the crowd – he'd tried when he first arrived – so he impatiently settled his gaze on the council member, waiting for the "doom". The announcer spoke with such a monotone voice and indifferent expression, he must've either done this before or be a sociopath, Arthur noted bitterly.

"Johnson, Taylor," the man said. Arthur held his breath.

"Jones, Anthony."

It was funny. Arthur had expected something dramatic to happen; like a lightening suddenly erupting, the whole world to stop, time freezing, that all sound would disappear, or at least that someone in the crowd would gasp. But nothing different happened. The whole scenario continued as usual, and names Arthur no longer had the will to make out were counted up. As if there was nothing special about that name, about that person. But then again, compared to all the other passed men, was Alfred's father any different, really? Did he deserve a special treatment? Should he be mourned more than the others? No. In Arthur's and a certain other blond-haired boy's opinion, he did. But what was that name among all of the other hundreds to the rest of the crowd? Nothing. If anything, it was just another insignificant name of a stranger, one without face nor personality, that filled up the death toll, leaving hope that they took up the spot in place of their own beloved ones. As they grieved, others felt a guilty relief.

He wanted to cry. It was sad, and he was feeling sad. He felt guiltier though. Not the same kind of guilt that the families of the lucky survivors felt, but a different kind of guilt from knowing that he could've told Alfred yesterday. He could've prepared him, not making this as suspending and crushing as it now was. He wanted to see him so badly, because Alfred was always there for him. But Arthur... he wasn't able to be there for Alfred, he couldn't. Because he couldn't barge out of the carriage and look for him among the families. He wasn't allowed to, and the thought angered him. And knowing that he could've done something the previous day... Albeit being small, it would've been something.

He let out an agitated growl, slamming his fists down into the cushioned seats next to him. Without really thinking, he kicked out both his legs to smash his soles against the opposite wall of the carriage. The sound erupting wasn't nearly loud enough to satisfy him, so he repeated the movements. It felt weird, wanting something to share his pain – his misery. The wooden wall was an inanimate object, it wouldn't feel anything no matter what he did to it, but still he continued. It was first when the carriage driver, a young maid working at the castle, opened the door that he stopped.

She was blurry in his field of sight, but he could still hear her clearly. Her voice was strained, a bit nervous.

"Are you all right, your highness?"

"How come you didn't knock?" was Arthur's snappy reply. He wasn't in the mood for talking to anyone, especially not her. She didn't know him; she didn't understand what he was going through; she knew nothing.

"I did, your highness, but you didn't answer me. I thought something might have happened – that you were being attacked. I was only concerned is all."

"Well, don't be," he spat back. The maid looked offended, but didn't say anything. "You people are only paid to care."

"Your highness, please, do calm dow-"

"Just leave me alone, would you? I don't want you here!" Before the maid could reply, Arthur stood up and slammed the door shut. Why didn't anyone understand him? He wanted to be alone...! Or with Alfred... Comforting Alfred was his first priority after all. But even if he got to the boy, who was he to comfort him? He wouldn't be of any use if he was a crying mess, as he'd rendered himself.

But it wasn't his fault, was it? It was Yao who'd made the decision to tell the families. Why would he even do that? Couldn't it just have waited? Why would he get their hopes up? Arthur wasn't mad with himself anymore – all of his anger was now channeled at the Jack. The princess groaned. It was exhausting. He didn't know what, but something – his anger, blame, guilt, self loathing? – was exhausting him.

He couldn't just sit there any longer. He wouldn't. He needed to relieve himself of the stress somehow.

So completely without thinking, Arthur opened the carriage door and jumped out onto the cobblestone. He landed in a water puddle, soaking his shoes and socks.

"W-what are you doing, your– Arthur! You must get inside immediately!"

He simply stormed past the maid, yanking his arm loose when she grabbed after him. The woman continued to call out orders of stopping, in panic. Her shouts had already caused a scene next to the nearly silent crowd. Arthur didn't look back though. He knew she'd get the disguised guards – if they weren't already after him – so he settled for a spurt.

It was an uphill street, like all the others leading away from the harbour, and maybe the same one he'd run with Alfred more than a year ago. They looked almost identical, and he didn't remember the buildings in detail.

"Stop, Arthur! Halt!" came the cries from the guards. They were, naturally, inching closer. Where did they think he was going, anyway? He didn't have anywhere to go except for the castle. Or at least they didn't think he did. Arthur was in fact going for the castle gates, but instead of actually entering the building he was going to turn right and head for the Holy Woods. It seemed like the best option, being the only place where he could be alone undisturbed.

Someone suddenly grasped his shoulder from behind, causing him to abruptly halt. Instinctively he turned around and aimed a punch at his captor, only to immediately regret it. The guard captured the fist in an iron-like grip and twisted his arm. Arthur yelped in pain and was forcefully turned around.

"Calm down, your highness," his capturer wheezed in his ear. Two more men then arrived, blocking the boy's view. "That was dangerous – you know you mustn't show yourself in public. Where were you going?" The first man began to push him forward and Arthur couldn't other than walk.

"I was just going back to the castle. You're overreacting," Arthur hissed.

"You could've just waited for May to take you back, when the ceremony was over. That was very disrespectful of you."

Arthur snorted. They weren't any better than the maid.

Once they got inside the castle the wet males were given towels to dry. Arthur was taken to a common room with a lit fireplace where a guard and two maids watched over him. They tried to start a conversation with the princess, but he was too stubborn to answer.

Yao eventually appeared, after a couple of hours. The Jack was still sporting a grim expression. He sat down in the sofa next to Arthur and gestured for the other three to leave. Another moment passed before Yao spoke up. "We're stressed enough as it is. Was that scene really necessary?"

Arthur visibly huffed, but remained silent.

"Arthur, you know you can't show yourself to the public yet. You were lucky it was dark and everyone's attention was directed elsewhere, but if that happens again they are bound to see you. I've already clarified this – many years ago – and I do not understand why you chose now of all times to break our agreement. Isn't letting you visit the city in the carriage enough? I could withdraw that privilege, you know. It's nothing you should take for granted." Yao's tone was accusing, but Arthur couldn't bring himself to care. He was too upset with the Jack, with the entire ordeal, to focus on the threat.

"Why would you tell them they were returning?" he asked.

"Pardon, your highness?"

"Why did you tell the families that the marines were returning?" Arthur asked in a louder, desperate voice. "What was the bloody point of that?"

Yao looked taken aback before the expression changed to offended. "Language, Arthur. It wasn't my decision to make. There weren't any other options."

"Of course there were other options – you could just have waited and told them that all the ships were attacked. You're not making any sense!"

"Calm down now, your highness. It would be easier to explain if you didn't interrupt me. One of the survivors had already sent a letter home. I don't know how he got ahold of it, but the man apparently kept a personal messenger bird aboard. We were told that this man contacted his family immediately after the attack, telling them he was coming home. We were also informed that he'd spent many years out at sea, thus his homesickness, if it can be called that. Now, while he didn't write anything about the attack we didn't want anyone to suspect anything until we'd inspected the damage. It could've just been a group of rebellious outlaws that'd hijacked Hearts' ships, but that unfortunately wasn't the case. Do you need any further explanation, your highness?"

Arthur shook his head, no. He understood, but didn't find the situation any better. But instead of being mad with Yao he cursed the man now. He found it easier to be mad with a stranger than his mentor, so it was at least some improvement.

"So," Yao started, bringing Arthur back to attention, "will you promise to stay away from public until you're of age?"

Reluctantly, he muttered a 'yes'. The Jack excused himself then, leaving Arthur alone in the common room. There was no fire left, only smoulder. Arthur subconsciously traced his finger along his neck as he stared into the glowing coal. It would stay alive for a while more, he figured. At some point he'd started to cry again – hopefully not when the Jack was still present. Everything was just so unfair. There was nothing he could've done. There really wasn't. Except for telling Alfred, of course. Why hadn't he told him again? Because he was afraid of his reaction? Because he thought he would be mad with Arthur instead? The princess was sobbing loudly by now. It was he who'd screwed up, wasn't it? Not Yao, not the man, not the Kingdom of Hearts. Hearts was the cause of everything, but it was he who hadn't told Alfred.

Arthur never made it to his chambers that night. He fell asleep on the sofa.

He'd always imagined some ugly troll. Or occasionally Angelique. But never before had he pictured himself as the target.

The straw in the training dummy made soft rustles as Arthur struck his blade against it. He'd been going since noon, and wasn't planning on stopping anytime soon. Sweat was dripping down his forehead as he continued with the blows. It was an unusually warm day for that part in the kingdom; the weather crisp and clean despite the previous evening.

With a well-aimed swing, Arthur had the training dummy's left arm severed from the rest of its straw body. He winced as it fell to the ground. There went Imaginary Arthur's arm. He deserved it though, the princess mused. He deserved it for being such a failure. So with a now very dull blade, Arthur aimed for the "throat" of the mannequin. The grass made close to no resistance as the sword tore through it. There was a soft thud as the head fell to the ground.

"Wow. Someone's angry."

Arthur turned around to glare at the newcomer. "Go away, Angelique," he sighed.

"Nope! You can't tell me what to do," she said and strolled over, bending down to look at the dummy's head. "Like, really, when did you get so strong? Wait, of course you're not strong, my bad. You're just angry because the guards caught you yesterday, right? I saw you from the window." She giggled, much to Arthur's dismay. "Did you finally do something bad?"

"It's none of your business. Now leave me alone." The princess turned to the remains of the straw doll and swung his sword again. He pierced the heart and twisted the blade before pulling out and striking once more.

"You really did do something then!" Her voice was full of excitement. "How bad was it? Did you get to meet the Jack in person – did he scold you?"

"Just go away, Angelique!" Another straw arm fell to the ground.

"But you have to tell me! I mean, you never mess up, this must be really good," she insisted and stepped closer.

"Go away, I said!" Arthur felt his personal space being invaded and turned to push her away. He didn't realise how close she was though, and his elbow made a hard impact with her stomach. Angelique gasped and stepped back, clutching her front. Her breathing was suddenly frantic. She looked up at Arthur with tear-filled eyes as she panted. Realising what he'd done, Arthur reached out carefully. "I-I'm so sorry, Angelique! Are you all right? I didn't mean to do that, swear."

"C-can't breathe," she sobbed and bent over. She was panicking, Arthur could tell. He put a hand on her shoulder and tried to make eye contact.

"There now. It'll be all right, just try to breathe stea-"

"Don't touch me!" she exclaimed. The girl pushed him away with surprising strength before making a choking noise. Her whole frame was shaking.

Arthur tried to reach out again. "Angelique, I-"

"It's your damn fault," she choked out in between sobs. "I hate you!" Before Arthur could react she'd turned and was running towards the castle. The young royal did nothing to stop her. He just stood there, frozen.

What had just happened? Arthur continued to stare dumbstruck at the building before he'd finally processed the event. In just a couple of minutes – or maybe less than one, Arthur hadn't kept track of time – he'd hurt yet another person. He groaned in exasperation with himself and turned back to the dummy. He gave the thing a hard kick and watched as the pole it was put upon bent backwards in the dirt. He continued to kick until the entire headless doll was on the ground. He then pierced the left side of its chest, where the previous hole still gaped.

"Damn you, Arthur Kirkland. Why can't you do anything right?"

He left the sword standing in the straw figure and headed back to the castle. It was with tired steps that he made it back to his quarters. A maid greeted him inside, telling him she'd poured a bath. "Thank you," Arthur said and went into the bathroom. The water seemed to be scourging, but he welcomed the heat. He climbed into the tub after removing his sweat damp clothes. The liquid burned.

It was a rather nice bathroom. Tiles that covered the walls and floor were set in patterns of gold, sapphire, and plum; the bathtub and sink were of shiny porcelain; the bright, magical light in the ceiling illuminating the entire room. He'd never given much thought to the room's interior before, but now he was thankful for the distraction.

No matter how much he continued to study the blue details of extravagant furniture, he couldn't help his mind from drifting to Alfred though. He'd go to meet him as soon as he was done with his bath. That had become routine during the last month, but maybe the boy was too heartbroken to come? Arthur was incredibly upset himself, and it wasn't even his father who'd died. Poor, poor Alfred. Imagining him sad only made Arthur want to see him more though. Maybe he could amend his behaviour towards his friend and make up for the stupid mistake? He sure hoped so. If anything he owed the boy some over-the-top comforting.

The stress he felt made him tired, more so than he'd been the previous evening. Arthur didn't think he deserved the rest, but he certainly needed it. So with little hesitation he reached out and grabbed a fuzzy towel. He positioned it behind his head and lay back. It was far too easy to get lost in the comfort, his mind soon filling with equanimous thoughts. If he were to support Alfred he'd need to rest. Arthur closed his eyes.

The water was lukewarm when he awoke.

Arthur startled as he recognised his position; head just above the water surface, dangerously close to being down under. When had he fallen asleep? The young royal quickly scrambled out of the bathtub and dried himself. Unceremoniously, he ran out into the main room of his quarters, towel tightly secured around his hips. He'd requested the maids to stop helping him with bathing himself – and dressing afterwards – months ago, but they occasionally entered the Queen's quarters to clean or refill the teapot that always stood on his library desk, so better safe than sorry. He'd have to be stricter with the rules when it came to knocking, he mentally noted. When storming into his closet, he swiftly put on a pair of dark trousers and a simple, yet exquisite, white shirt. It had fine, navy and gold embroideries on the cuffs, which gave away his wealth, but Arthur didn't care at that moment. A quick glance at a clock proved that he'd slept for far too long and was very late for his meeting with Alfred.

He rushed out of his quarters, down through the hallways, and descended the Grand Staircase. It was first when he sprinted out over the cobblestone path, on his way into the maze, that he realised he'd forgot to put on shoes. It was the uneven surface that'd alerted him. Arthur didn't think he'd have time to go back now though, so he just clumsily pulled off his socks and put them in his trouser pockets. There was no need to get grass stains on them and arouse suspicion. Well into the maze, the underlay changed from the cobblestone to much finer crumbled rocks, almost like sand. It felt weird to run on. Some stone fragments stuck to his soles. The ground changed again as he entered the woods. The grass and moss under his bare feet was a new and much welcomed sensation, though it was occasionally broken when he stepped on sharp rocks. Despite being a hot day, the undergrowth was surprisingly moist. He was almost too distracted by the ground that he didn't realise that he'd reached the wall. Arthur contemplated whether he dared to look up or not, seeing as Alfred might not be there. He chanced a quick glance though and was relieved to find a smiling face looking down at him.

"Hello, Alfred." Arthur was surprised – he'd expected a sullen look on the other's face. Instead the boy just kept grinning at him, as usual.

"Hey there, Arthur!" Was he pretending nothing had happened? Maybe that was easier for the boy. Arthur hadn't thought about that before. "Want some help?"

"Thank you." Arthur tried to smile as he accepted the offered hand. If Alfred was trying to ignore the happenings of the previous evening, so would he.

After being hauled up on the brick wall Arthur expected the other to start talking like he usually did. Alfred remained silent though, smiling softly at him before looking out into the forest. For the first time since he'd met Alfred, the two of them fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Arthur didn't know what to do, so he fidgeted quietly in his seat, absentmindedly playing with the cuffs of his sleeves. Alfred slowly caught up on his movements. "Nice shirt you got there," he commented. Arthur looked up into his eyes and found the boy still smiling. He didn't know if it was his own paranoia, but he thought the smile was weaker than usual; fake, almost.

"Thank you."

"Y'know," Alfred began, "I wasn't sure you'd come. I thought something might've happened."

"What? No. I'm fine, I just accidentally fell asleep." Alfred laughed at that, the sound bright and clear.

"Really? That doesn't sound like you." The princess frowned and shrugged, but was relieved all the same.

Alfred seemed determined to not let the silence consume them once more, so he quickly spoke again. "So... Uhm... You were at the harbour yesterday, right?" Arthur nodded. Was he going to bring it up now? He would have to eventually, right? Alfred's smile drained of sincerity again. Arthur listened intently.

"So we're actually at war. It feels a bit weird, doesn't it? I mean, I thought I would've already joined the navy when it became official."

Arthur just stared at the other, puzzled. "Well," he finally said, "I think it's that good you haven't. You'd only be sent out there with the others." Dared he say it? It looked like Alfred was about to speak, but Arthur took the chance. "You heard what happened to the ships. Had you been out there that could've been you."

Alfred looked a bit guilty at that, chewing on his bottom lip with his eyes averted. He looked sad, too, but not overemotionally so. Arthur tried desperately to read him, but it didn't seem worse than that. He was just guilty and sad, not devastated like the royal first had thought. "I know, but... Well, y'know... I want to fight. It's the only thing I can do for the kingdom. I'm not very good with politics, and I've always admired my dad, so yeah... Like I've told you; I want to join the navy. But I want to fight as well. If I can't fight then there's really no point. I just want to do something for the kingdom, you know? I want to have done something more significant before I die. Really, I don't care if I die young – as long as I've done something more. Like saving people's lives." Alfred paused for a bit, considering how to continue. Arthur couldn't other than stare. Where was all this coming from?

"What are you talking about, Alfred? You shouldn't think too much about the war, and definitely not about throwing away your life! Where is this coming from, all of sudden?" Arthur winced mentally when he realised he'd sounded disturbingly much like Yao had the previous evening. Alfred looked lost at his words, trying desperately to find some of his own. He looked like a defenseless puppy, which actually wasn't that far from the truth.

"I want to save people; I want to help them... I don't know what else I could do. I just..." Alfred trailed off. His voice was strained, and he swallowed. Was he about to cry? Arthur had subconsciously leaned forward and embraced the boy just as he let out a choked sob.

"Hush," Arthur whispered. Alfred buried his face in the royal's shoulder, taking deep breaths. He was already trying to compose himself – it was obvious that he'd tried to avoid crying in the first place.

"I'm sorry. It's just... Have you ever been to a funeral?" Alfred's voice sounded so weak, it was almost heartbreaking. Arthur wasn't used to hearing him like that at all; he was always so strong and happy. He had expected it, of course; this was what his rest had originally been for. Being there with a broken Alfred was a lot harder in reality than it had been in his head though. What was he supposed to do to help him? Exactly how did he comfort him? Doing what Alfred had done to him seemed futile – the boy's mother had probably already done that. Oh yes, he'd asked him something, hadn't he? Arthur felt even dumber for not listening.

"Pardon? Sorry, I didn't quite get that."

"Have you ever been to a funeral?" Alfred asked again.

Arthur didn't have to think for long. "Yes." His aunt's.

"Well, you know, everyone's always so sad. Just because one person died. And they're usually very many. Some even scream. They break down and they actually scream. It's horrible." Arthur was shocked by Alfred's words; partly because it was weird hearing him say something so depressing, and partly because it sounded like he'd been to a lot of funerals. "So I figured that if I saved that person, the one who died, then everyone would be happy. I mean, I know I can't do anything if they're just old, but a lot of them are young. There are even children, a lot of them younger than us."

Alfred pulled back slightly to wipe his eyes. The moist layer covering the deep blues reminded Arthur of the ocean – the wide, free, endless blue ocean. Staring into those bottomless orbs only added to the surrealism of the situation. He had heard every word Alfred said, and he could piece them together, but nothing of it made sense in his head. Everything was just a blur of confusion, stress, and the knowledge that he was absolutely incapable of doing anything for Alfred was bringing frustration into the whole mess. So Arthur only nodded, knowing better than to ask the boy questions in his current state. "I won't be able to do anything if I can't serve the kingdom now, now that we're at war. There won't be any other opportunities to help anyone."

"Alfred, there are more than one way to help people. Even if the war were to end soon, which we should hope it will, there are plenty of other ways for you. I'm sure you'd make an astounding navy captain, but that's not all you'd be good at. Trust me. You shouldn't limit your future to something you haven't you're not entirely sure of." Arthur hoped that had sounded encouraging. Alfred smiled sadly, so maybe it had?

"That's just the thing – I want to be a navy captain, I really do, but I can't be one right now, and lots of people are going to die... Do you get it? They're going to die and I won't be able to do a thing." The princess was at a loss of what to say. Thinking Alfred was completely happy-go-lucky had apparently been a false assumption. He was more vigilant than Arthur first had thought; more vigilant with a far more tutelary mindset. Alfred must've always been that way, Arthur only being too blind to notice. What was he supposed to say to boy with such conflicting feelings? What would he have wanted to hear himself? Arthur didn't know, so he settled a comforting hand on Alfred's shoulder and leaned forward to say in a softer, assuring, voice,

"Don't think like that. It's not your fault – no one can prevent anything. Let's just pray for the war to be over soon, okay?"

Nothing had progressed for the better after a month though, and Hearts' ships were still roaming Spadian waters. The other kingdom had gone from the offensive to a more passive battle strategy. Spades' navy easily kept them at bay, but when they made any attempt to drive them completely out, they were met with brutal all-out-attacks. Hearts seemed content staying out at sea for the time being, but many evacuated from the coasts nearest the attacks. It was discussed in the imperial court whether Spades should dare to go on the offensive instead; using their knowledge of the ocean to quickly infiltrate Hearts and hopefully take enough essential ports for the other kingdom to consider surrendering. That was one of the decisions they wanted Arthur to make. After a lot of pondering and guiding from Yao he chose against it though, deeming it too risky.

The court weren't going easy on the young monarch. Arthur found himself constantly tired and buried in papers. Sleep came unnaturally easy, perhaps because his work had significantly increased and he needed more time to finish everything. The meetings with Alfred therefore became shorter. He made sure to never miss them, and was glad to see the boy acting like usual again. Since there were no new news about the battlefront, the capital – and Alfred, considerably – had calmed down. There was still a light tension in the air, but everyone subtly tried to ignore it, going on with their everyday lives. Except for the hectic days at the castle nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

It was therefore Arthur found himself surprised for the first time in a month, on a completely ordinary day.

He was meeting with Alfred after a hard day of training and was just relishing in the quiet walk through the woods. Some leaves had already started to drain of their lush, green colour. Soon the trees would be bathing in fire again, and while Arthur very much liked green, he looked forward to it. The physical exercise wouldn't be nearly as straining when the temperature had dropped a little. Plus, everything looked pretty in autumn.

When he arrived at the wall he had to bite back a chuckle. Alfred was sitting up there with poorly contained excitement; he fidgeted frantically and his feet tapped an uneven rhythm against the bricks. The boy grinned as he spotted Arthur.

"Hey Artie, c'mere, quickly!"

Arthur obeyed and ran up to the wall where he was hauled up. Alfred's eyes were positively sparkling. "Guess what?" he exclaimed excitedly.

Arthur chuckled. "Michael finally returned your football?"

"No, dude. And we're calling it soccer now, y'know? You're too old-fashioned," Alfred said and nodded his own head in agreement. The princess rolled his eyes, but smiled amusedly.

"What is it then?"

"I told my dad about you, and he's invited you over for dinner!"

Arthur was just about to accept his offer when he caught up with the boy's words. The monarch tilted his head to the side in a wary manner.

"What?"

A/N

Hello again! I'm still alive, though I update slowly :/ . . . I hope people still follow this xD

As for the emotional breakdowns in this; I just realised I'd made them teenagers, thus the teenage angst. Whether it will continue in the next chapter or not, I don't know. Is it too annoying? xD

Anyway, it'd be nice if you dropped by a comment/pm and told me how you like the story so far. It's nowhere near finished, and I'd very much like feedback on what to write more of/add/improve! Also, if you spot any typos or grammatical errors, please tell me! (Also, if you've pm:d me and I haven't replied it's because I haven't received notifications in my mail – I just checked my inbox here today. I'll reply to you A.S.A.P!)

And with that; I'm done. Thank you for reading :)