Here is the new Chapter! Sorry for the confusion! Anyway I hope you enjoy this one! Please note that everything in italics is Alfred's memory of his conversation with Antonio, I felt that it was necessary for you to understand what happens in the kitchen with Arthur later.

I also want to thank all of you who have commented, followed and favorited this story. I'm glad you like it! mochiusagi, hanamiyoko1, Esmeraude11 and Guest, thanks for your reviews! I would also love to thank Baka neko-san, British Traveler, FluffyWhitePandas, Moonlit dark, NoxDawn24642, Senselessscribbles, TheFannishaUsui, XXShyNightmareXX, Zemmno, apple abs, lilred3394 and luckei, for Following this piece. Finally, thank you Baka neko-san, CrazyAnimeChild15, FluffyWhitePandas and TheFannishaUsui for adding this piece to your favorites!

I know really long thank you section but you guys are worth it!

Enjoy,

~Kuro.

Part 3: Bake

The lonesome sound of chords being plucked slowly echoed as he gently strummed. His fingers danced up and down the neck as he continued at a slow waltz. His fingers slipped against the nylon strings which he was using; Antonio had suggested learning classical guitar for better guitar solos. He smiled sadly as he remembered why Antonio had popped his head over the fence.

"Alfred, why do you sound as though you want to cry?" asked the Spaniard before he hopped over the white fence and landed softly in the grass bellow. There was a bright and colorful band around his shoulder and Alfred could see the golden guitar on his back. His green eyes sparkled in the sun and his tan skin seemed to make the dreariness fade a little from the wet nation. "I'm not," Alfred replied hastily, he pushed up his glasses and huffed. He didn't want to listen to Antonio, even if he would be the one with the answer. "But it's a heartbreaking sound, what happened?" he asked as he slipped his guitar off and joined Alfred in the grass. The American paused and looked at the man beside him, "Have you ever been in love with someone but they don't love you back?" he asked hesitantly.

Antonio shifted as he picked up his guitar and caressed the wood with his fingers. "Unrequited?" asked Antonio in confusion, it was as though the concept made no sense to him. Alfred sighed, Antonio was romantic, fun and utterly sophisticated when it came to matters of the heart. Alfred wasn't, he tried to be, he was around women and other men but not Arthur. Arthur could see every one of his faults and he felt as though he could hide nothing. He plucked a few more strings, "I love him so much, what if he pushes me away?" he asked softly. He was so afraid of loosing the Englishman that it had become difficult to think of anything else. Antonio adjusted the guitar and smiled,

"What have I told you about a guitar, Alfred?" he asked curiously as he checked each of his pegs and positioned his fingers on the neck. Alfred was silent and waited for the Spaniard to provide the answer. "They're like lovers, you have to caress them. When you hurt, they feel your pain, they cry with you," he stated as he began to gently strum. "When you are happy, they jump for you," he commented, Alfred's eyes were locked on the intricate technique which Antonio was using. It was soft, florid and seemed to conjure an emotion long forgotten in Alfred. There was a brief pause, Antonio's fingers had stopped their dance and he released a sigh. "You have to be honest with a guitar, or you will sound bad. Arthur is the same, he's raised you and taken care of you for so long that he doesn't realize how you feel," he stated as he lowered his hands and looked at Alfred.

Antonio relaxed visibly as his eyes glided up and down the neck of his own guitar, he always took excellent care of it. In many ways it was the Spaniard's soul, the instrument had gotten him through long and tough times, Alfred knew that. "Just tell him how you feel, it's better to confess than to walk around with this kind of thing hanging over you," he stated bluntly. Alfred rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "Look I know he doesn't love me like that, why would I do that? He would pull further away and tell me to go to hell," he commented. Arthur would run for the hills when he found out Alfred was gay and even blame himself for raising Alfred improperly. He wasn't sure how he could take that, he didn't think he could survive that.

Antonio grabbed Alfred's face harshly, "You are acting like a coward," he stated bluntly, "You have to be direct with him. He loves you too."

Alfred's fingers were slow as he began to play once again, naturally he was conflicted, why wouldn't he be. The man who raised him was his first love, which was more than enough to trouble him. Today he was at the end of his rope, "Guest huh?" he asked as he continued. The word was cold, harsh and sliced through him like a knife. He didn't want to be a guest; he wanted to be a lover. Someone allowed in Arthur's bedroom at night and could hold the Englishmen tight, to protect him and cherish him. "Damn it," he moaned as his fingers fell off the neck of the guitar, "Damn it all." The ground was soggy from the rain earlier and he felt it squish as he got up and walked back toward the house. He was dreading entering the Englishman's home, why he was still there was a mystery to him. After watching Arthur storm out he decided to wait until her returned. The aroma of oranges and cranberries greeted the young American as he reached the back door. "Huh?" he mused, his eye brows knitted together as he reached for the door.

He gently pushed the door open to see a familiar sight before him, he was a child again in Arthur's house. His back was to Alfred and the American could see the neatly tied bow of his black apron. The oven was open, and he watched as sandy blond hair fell in the Englishman's eyes as he bent over the pan with scones on it. A wooden basing brush was in his hand, his movements were gentle and sweet as he applied a wash to them. Alfred felt as though time had stopped, he was baking, Arthur was actually baking. Ocean blue eyes were locked on the Englishman's fingers as they sprinkled light brown colored raw sugar on the top. Once he had completed the task he placed the basting brush in the small white dish with the wash, and clapped his hands. A smile of pride was on his lips as he picked up the pan again with a thick black mitt and placed it in the oven. The oven closed with a thump, Alfred found himself inching ever closer to the Englishman. He was about to interrupt when he noticed Arthur reach into the corner and pull out a timer.

His eyes were locked on the dome in Arthur's hands, resting inside of a clear plastic dome was a hunch of yellow Swiss cheese, it was sitting on the black base, and just above it was a rather hungry looking gray mouse with large ears. He had bought it for Arthur as a Birthday present; he remembered how the Englishman scoffed. Naturally Alfred had also given him a tin of tear however this was far more important to him. Arthur looked at a stack of note cards before twisting the timer and setting it on the counter. Without warning the Englishman turned, his head was lowered as he untied the apron. "Hi," said Alfred after a moment, it seemed to be the only word he could get out of his mouth. Arthur jumped nervously and looked at him, "Oh, hello Alfred," he said hesitantly. His hands were still behind his back and Alfred could tell he was having a hard time untying the apron.

"Want help with that?" he asked hesitantly, he had a feeling that Arthur would simply push him away and laugh, he was always stubborn. There was a pause and the Englishman smiled gently, "Please," he said after a moment, "It would be nice." Alfred stared with disbelief after a moment and hesitantly reached to untie the neatly tied bow. With a tug it came unraveled; he was honestly confused as to why Arthur couldn't do it himself. "Sit, we didn't have a chance to drink our tea before," said Arthur softly, his tone was difficult to read, it was between indifferent and kind. It was actually awkward to be in the same room with him after the event, he had been hoping that Arthur would say something. "I'm sorry," whispered Alfred after a moment, he just couldn't handle the silence anymore, "I was being a jerk." Arthur paused, his hands which had been busy making tea stopped and he leaned on the counter. All Alfred could see was the Englishman's back which made him nervous. He desperately wanted to see Arthur's face so he had some idea as to what he was thinking. To see his back turned was heart wrenching, and part of him prayed Arthur hadn't figured out what he had meant. He watched as those stern shoulders dropped while the Englishman sighed, the motion itself seemed to be one of the few signs that the man before him was beginning to thaw.

"No," Arthur responded, "I shouldn't have lashed out." His hands were flat on the granite counter, his head was dipped and Alfred could tell he was mentally berating himself. "No matter how upset you were, I shouldn't have let my temper control me like that," he stated slowly. It was clear that Arthur had thought about every word, "I'm sorry, Alfred," he said softly as he picked his head up and turned to face him. "I'm so very sorry," he muttered. Alfred was confused for a moment, he wasn't expecting this. The proud Arthur Kirkland was apologizing to him. "Artie, I was the one who practically cursed you out, I was horrible to you! I," Alfred paused and looked at him, "I wanted." He paused, and looked at the counter. It was three words and he couldn't seem to say them, three little words which meant the world, they had so much weight to them it was frightening. Sure he was able to say words like judgment, innocent, guilty, freedom and declaration, but those three words seemed heavier than all of those put together.

"You wanted?" asked Arthur, he was standing before Alfred looking at him curiously. Those green eyes bore into him, he could tell he was looking for an answer. He knew that, he had it, the question seemed to be if he could get those words out. "I," he paused again, "wanted to make sure you were okay, dude. I mean you've been so stressed out lately and every nation was worried," he fibbed. He just couldn't say it, he watched Arthur's expression carefully, he looked a little upset and asked, "Is that all?" Alfred smiled broadly and responded, "Yeah dude! You just looked like you were coming down with something." No that wasn't all, he knew that. Part of him was hoping Arthur would catch him in his lies, see right through them like he always did. "Oh," breathed Arthur as he placed a cup of Earl Gray before the American, he could smell a hint of sugar, it was apparent that he even remembered how Alfred drank his tea.

"What else would it be? What did you think it was?" asked Alfred hurriedly, he was panicking perhaps he did figure it out. He watched Arthur lift his tea cup to his lips and take a sip, savoring the flavor before returning it to its saucer. "Nothing, I'm sorry I was careless before, I'll use thicker mitts, Francis suggested doing so," he stated without thinking. The name it's self made Alfred's stomach churn, he spoke with Francis. The Frenchman had a crush on Arthur for years and he knew it. On more than one accession had he seen the loving look in Francis' eyes when he looked at Arthur, it hurt. "Arthur have you ever been in love?" asked Alfred after a moment. Perhaps he could get the Englishman to admit his love, even if it was for another person.

Arthur nearly choked on his tea and blushed brightly as he turned away from the American. "Dude! You okay?" asked Alfred in a panic as he leapt out of the stool and went to Arthur's aid. The Englishman held up a hand as he hit his chest with his fist in an attempt to clear his throat, "I'm fine," he rasped, "A little surprised though." He closed his emerald green eyes and drew a deep breath, "Why do you ask?" he managed to say, his voice was still horse from choking on the tea. Alfred paused, naturally he would want to know what had prompted him to ask. "I was just wondering," he commented as he leaned on the island and traced the rip of his teacup with his index finger. He could feel the warmth of the liquid bellow spread through the cool porcelain. "I am," responded Arthur after a moment. Of course he had been, he was older than Alfred, "I see," he said after a moment. It took a moment for his brain to process what the man had said. It struck him when he realized Arthur said the word, "am," and not, "was." There was no way he would do that, if there was one thing he knew it was that Arthur was a stickler about the English language. He would never make the elementary mistake of using the wrong tense.

His head jerked up, "Am?" he asked after a moment, his eyes were wide with hope. Arthur's gaze softened a little as he admitted, "Yes I am, at least I think that's what this feeling is," he mumbled. He seemed to be fumbling, the stoic Englishman had been call to center stage to admit his feelings, now Alfred could understand what Antonio meant. "Are you, in love with someone?" asked Arthur hesitantly, he seemed so unsure of his words and actions. It was as though he would fall through a thin layer of ice which held his emotions at bay, at anytime. "Yes," responded Alfred firmly. Arthur smiled a little, "She's a lucky lady," he stated, his eyes hovered on the timer which had somehow made it to the table. It was nearly time for him to pull what he had been baking. "It's not a lady," said Alfred after a moment, his voice was barely audible. Arthur looked confused, "Not a woman?" he asked as he stared wide eyed at Alfred. He didn't seem disgusted, perhaps he was alright with the fact that Alfred was gay, just wouldn't be able to tolerate that he was in love with him. Alfred nodded and looked at the black liquid in the cup, which was slowly getting cold.

"No, I'm in love with," he paused and drew a deep breath, "You." The timer ripped through the air and he looked up to see Arthur's lips parted, he looked shocked. Alfred smiled sadly and reiterated, "I'm in love with you, Arthur." The Englishman was still, he looked confused, shocked and utterly lost, all things which Alfred hoped he wouldn't be. He slowly got up and walked past the man to pull what ever he was baking out. He opened the oven and reached blindly for the black oven mitt. His glasses fogged slightly when he opened the oven, resting on now brown parchment was a batch of triangle shaped scones, they were a beautiful golden brown which, made his mouth water. "You love me?" asked a hesitant voice behind him. The timer's cry was silenced, clearly the Englishman had silenced it, "Yes I do, I love you," he stated nervously as he placed the pan on the top of the stove. He used his foot to close the oven door and gently lifted a scone to look at the bottom. "If it disgusts you, forget about it. I won't come back again if it upsets you," he said hurriedly. He was about to vanish from the room when Arthur grabbed the back of his shirt. Alfred perked up and looked at him; standing behind him blushing bright red was the very man who had raised him. He felt a wave of anxiety wash over him, if he was going to be rejected he hoped Arthur would do so swiftly. He didn't want to get his hopes up to only see them crushed again.