The Decision of the Loved, Ninna Nanna- Ghetonia, Not Enough, That mandolin song from HetaOni, Utopia, La Notte.

I somehow have 7 hours of teaching under my belt. Tomorrow is when the director comes in to observe me. There is a good chance I may spontaneously combust at some point during those 45 minutes. Or cry. I have been known to cry.

So you get a surprise update, because if I'm going down I'm taking the rest of you with me.

HetaOni: Recovery

An American in Rome

It didn't take a genius to figure out that North Italy wasn't stable yet. America stayed in the house like he'd been asked, but he kept his distance from the afflicted nation because he just didn't know what he was expected to do. Should he go talk to him? Should he ask to leave? Should he help out around the house? There wasn't a whole hell of a lot to do except for cooking and laundry and America didn't really like going through other dudes' clothes.

After the incident with Spain, something America hadn't been able to get South Italy to talk to him about or explain, visitors were restricted to humans. The Italian Prime Minister and President both arrived at the household, but they stayed for less than an hour each before leaving again under dark clouds. One or two of Italy's neighbours from the complex also showed up, but mostly just to leave food before departing again without much to say.

It was obvious that North Italy had hurt his brother by not embracing him. America would have never pegged Romano as the kind of guy who liked to be hugged, or who looked for that kind of thing when he was upset, but the change in behaviour it caused was unsettling. The heavy-handed authority he'd used to keep the household going was basically knocked out of him after Italy's fit on the couch, and America had never felt like more of an outsider. He actually would have preferred to go with Spain, because even if the guy was suspicious of and didn't trust him, America knew what it felt like to stand in a room and have everyone down to the cat suddenly turn on him.

It'd been three days since America had brought North Italy home and he was still 'sleeping' on the brothers' couch. Except he wasn't sleeping, and he hadn't been able to manage it for a good, long time either. Sleep was something America was learning to live without, and he was just glad that South Italy had too much on his plate to deal with already, so he left the American to his own devices in the living room.

He knew it was North Italy who'd originally wanted him to stay, but again, America hadn't actually seen him since that first terrible day. It was South Italy keeping him here now, shoving food in his mouth and staring him down until America curled up under the spare blankets on the couch. Even if he didn't sleep, at least the cushions were reasonably comfortable, and whatever he ate tasted good.

But he still didn't know what he was doing here, or why he should stay. He made exactly one call to his boss to let him know he was staying in Rome and not the construction zones up in Venice, but there wasn't much else to do after that. He didn't want to go home yet- well he did, but he really didn't, and he just couldn't- augh!

America really wasn't expecting the surprise that found him the next day, the day after South Italy sent Spain packing back to Madrid. He only opened the front door as a fluke because the Vatican City State was out, and San Marino and Seborga were getting groceries, and North and South Italy were upstairs keeping quietly to themselves. He opened the door because it was better than bothering the brothers on the second floor, but he didn't know what to do after that.

"Alfred?"

SLAM!

SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.

The last few times Canada had visited Europe, something bad had happened. There was the conference in Bern, then the chaos in Venice, and now there was his brother in Rome. He had to figure that, unless he wanted to stay sequestered at home for the next fifty years, the only way to kick the losing streak was to try one more time to have a successful overseas visit.

So here he was already getting off to a bad start in Rome.

Canada expected Italy to open the door, not America, so that was his first surprise. When his brother slammed the door in his face that was his second one, and the muffled shouts and yelling from inside the house started setting off the Canadian's own alarms. He'd been directed to the house by Italy's office staff because he was taking a few days off from state work, and Canada was only in Rome because he knew better than to ignore whatever cryptic message Italy had tried giving him over the phone a few days ago.

'He's just your brother', Canada was surprised by how much those words had stung him, or the way they'd sunk into his flesh and refused to let go. He'd gone over the conversation again and again since it had happened, to the point where Russia had knowingly implied that Canada would be more likely to visit Italy than follow him back to Moscow like they'd originally planned. Their trade talks could wait until Canada sorted everything out with his brother…

America wasn't just his brother, and as awful as he'd been over the last few months, Canada felt like he deserved the scolding Italy had given him.

"Alfred open up!" So he knocked on the door again, pressing his thumb against the cold brass buzzer next to the unit number. Canada didn't consider the cloudy skies and brisk wind winter weather, but he knew the Italians passing him on the street were probably insulted by the fact that he wasn't even wearing a coat over his suit jacket, let alone a scarf or hat to protect himself from the cold. He might have sheepishly smiled down the street at the pedestrians if he hadn't been so focused on- "I just saw you! What's going on?"

It took another minute or two of knocking and buzzing before he got a response, the Canadian fighting off the sting of apprehension as he realized he was making a big fuss over nothing: obviously America knew he was here, he didn't have to keep ringing and-

"Ah, thank you." The door swung open and- "Italy? I'm sorry-"

He meant to say: 'I'm sorry for showing up out of the blue', but the angrily little brunette who answered the door next had a livid look to him and cut Canada off with sudden, brazen shouting. He didn't know what Italy was saying either, because when the Republic opened his mouth all that came out was a slew of Italian verbs and phrases. Canadian French couldn't help him here, and the jet-lagged nation almost tripped back down the stone steps to the street.

"English!" He begged, holding up his briefcase like a shield while Italy advanced on him, gesturing sharply and flinging more angry, unintelligible words at him. Why was he so mad! "Italy I just came to-!"

"I NEVER FUCKING ASKED YOU TO COME HERE; YOU WEREN'T INVITED; YOU DON'T HAVE PERMISSION; YOU FUCKING TRESSPASS IN MY TERRITORY AGAIN AND I SWEAR TO FUCK I'LL-"

"Italy I'm looking for my brother!"

"CONGRATU-FUCKING-LATIONS NOW GO AWAY!"

Canada was half-way down the street before he really knew what had happened. He was also running, which was something he stopped as he placed his hand against the stone side of a building and tried to catch his breath. Italy was gone when he turned around to look for him, but the screaming was still echoing loudly in his ears, and the confusion wasn't about to settle in his mind.

Unbidden, the Canadian suddenly wondered why he thought he'd seen someone with red hair standing in that house…

America didn't question Romano's methods when it came to Canada, but he wanted to. There was just something about watching someone shriek at and chase his brother away that hurt him to keep quiet.

He was thankful that he stayed quiet though, because by the time South Italy came back inside North Italy had begun anxiously pacing around the house like a caged animal. It obviously upset him when he saw Romano get into a fight, or whenever there was yelling or shouting in the house, so America owed it to North Italy not to let his temper go and pound the South into the ground.

"I called to talk to him, not to bring him here." Romano promised in smooth, careful Italian. He was straightening the white cuffs on his shirt when he came back into the house, shutting the door with his foot without making eye contact. Another reason America didn't jump to his brother's defense was just how sorry South Italy looked standing there. "We settled all of that when you got here and I'm not handing you off to those assholes now."

"I'm not a little kid." America wanted to laugh when he said it, but he couldn't find the energy for it. "I can take care of myself, usually."

"Usually." Romano repeated, and they both looked around when they heard North Italy shuffling about in the kitchen. The Italian dismissed it first and looked up at him, dropping his voice with a question: "Did you sleep last night?"

"Kinda." Kinda meaning no, but it was awkward to go there and he shuffled his feet trying not to think about it, hands in his pockets. "Is that what you called him about? Sleep?" What, was Canada supposed to be his nanny or something?

"You're not a little kid," Romano used America's words again and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. On the one hand it was nice to be agreed with for once, but on the other… "But neither is he. I wanted to know how bad all this international shit has been with you two, so I called to find out."

"Wait, should you even be telling me this?" America was confused. Wasn't this the part where Romano was supposed to shout 'none of your fucking business, motherfucker!'? He felt out of his depth when Romano blinked at him and then shrugged, arms folded.

"If you don't want to know then don't ask. Jeeze, who taught you how to have a conversation?"

England.

America flinched at his own thought and tried to work it into an awkward shrug instead. It didn't work. South Italy just tsked sharply at him before putting things in the plainest way possible:

"I'm not going to let people into this house just because they took the time to come here." Like what had happened in Venice… "I don't know any other way to help him except to keep him safe, and I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you except that whenever you go out there you say or do stupid shit that upsets the world." But this was sounding oddly familiar… "If he finds out about your problems then it'll upset him even more than Spain did, so if you leave, you stay out." No, America had definitely heard this before, except this time it was… nicer.

"You don't want me to hurt North Italy with my temper…" China. China standing there smiling at him like a disobedient pet. China talking down to him like a toddler. China letting out just enough rope hoping he'd hang himself on the leash. "You just wanna be able to keep an eye on me…" chase him into a little hole and guard the way to keep him there…

"No." No? That was exactly what he'd- "Alfred, I just want you to get better."

In that moment, America was torn between the rage of telling Italy to never fucking use that name again without permission, or letting go of himself to try and figure out what it all meant.

"I don't understand…"

"I'm not going to tell him that everything he did just led to the rest of you fighting for no reason." Romano wasn't looking at him properly anymore. His voice was quiet and South Italy was just staring at nothing, slowly mumbling his words. "But I can't keep him locked up in this house forever either. He has to be part of the reconstruction process, even if I handle all the policy he still needs to be there in those cities." Oh…

Wait a minute, the reconstruction, it-

"You're still afraid he's not gonna make it…"

Romano didn't answer him, and America was so thankful he'd held his temper in. The way South Italy's face seemed to age with worry lines and exhaustion was troubling, his green eyes losing their flare and just staring through nothing for a few moments. His shoulders were hunched and America wondered briefly if Romano's hands had always been so corded and rough-looking. He was an ancient nation, and for a moment South Italy was an old man…

"Don't make this about me," Romano said gruffly, but he didn't look at America again. "You need someplace where people are gonna stop bitching at you about policy and politics, right?" Right… "Then stay here."

"I have to go back home eventually."

"And until you do, you stay here." And let Lovino guard the door, not to keep Alfred inside, but to keep Yao and Matthew and Arthur away…

"I don't understand…" He didn't know why he said the words so softly, he didn't know why he had to repeat himself. Alfred just knew that he could feel himself slipping, feel the weight slowly crushing him and the anger leaving him raw and empty. He was running out of fuel and he didn't know how much longer he could keep propping himself up. "I don't understand anything anymore…"

He was staring at the floor when he realized he was crying again, something he'd fought off since he'd crumbled in front of Feliciano and- well, whatever Vatican and Seborga's real names were. A teardrop was resting on Texas' right lens, his teeth gritting together and his hands beginning to hurt from clenching them so hard.

"Do you understand Italian?" Alfred understood that this entire time they'd been conversing in English, the colonial tongue that he used so much he often forgot it was colonial… from England…

"Yes." So he switched to the other tongue, one of the many he knew. He switched to the thousands that had come on ships and wrapped in swaddling, the millions who had fled from poverty and war looking for a better life. He couldn't favour one diaspora over the other, but as a nation of immigrants Alfred had to acknowledge, however quietly and only to himself, that his human name was as English as it was Italian.

"Then come eat some lunch, I think my brother's hungry."

Romano wasn't going to let anyone near his brother until Veneziano was ready for them. He wasn't going to let people cram into the house with all their noise and their drama and their politics. He didn't want anyone or anything to come along and upset him, because with only his brothers and America for company there were more than enough triggers lying in wait in a given afternoon.

When Veneziano wasn't dozing in the quiet then he was fidgety, nervous, and constantly checking over his shoulder in case anything was going to jump out at him. He hated being in the living room; he couldn't stand being in any room where he couldn't see everything with just a quick glance. Romano had never resented the open-plan layout of the first floor so much as he did after a few more days of his brother's intense anxiety. There were no doors between the entryway, the living room, the dining room and the kitchen, meaning there were no barriers, no locks, and no peace of mind for Veneziano.

His brother hated the windows too, because he didn't know what to do about them. Either he'd go around and open every window in the house or he'd hurry to slam them all shut and lock them. He suffocated in the still air, but the noise of the street running by their house paralyzed him whenever he heard it.

If any of them could have just agreed on whether or not they should move him then Romano would have taken him to his personal property outside Naples. It was quiet there, peaceful, but it was too far from where Veneziano needed to be in the north. Besides, if he couldn't handle the sight of people on the street then how would they keep him calm on a high-speed train?

Who Veneziano was with influenced his behaviour too. He was calmest with Seborga unless something startled him. If that happened, he'd leap to defend the Micro-nation so fiercely that it gave them all a scare the first time Romano accidentally dropped something in the kitchen. He was anxious but completely obedient with Vatican, but it was to the point where he refused eye-contact or to directly acknowledge anyone else without Papa's permission first. San Marino was the only one who could get him to do anything except eat and sit quietly in his bedroom: Veneziano would diligently follow him around the house and pick up things for washing, or help shape pasta for dinner, or stir a pot that was boiling. But if he made any kind of mistake he'd immediately shy away from the task and stand as far away from their brother as possible without leaving the room.

Romano only saw Veneziano alone with America once, and it was after South Italy came home from answering a summons at work. Veneziano'd had another fit over the window in his bedroom and America had calmed him down, the blonde fetching Gino after the cat had been locked outside, the nation depositing the animal in its master's lap. Then America'd sat with him, and talked to him, and by the time Romano had peeked in through the bedroom door the American had lost his composure again like before.

It was probably a good time to step in and remove him, but Romano had held off.

"How did you know?" Because America wasn't screaming or shouting this time, and Veneziano looked hollow and exhausted in bed, but he was listening. "You always knew, you were always completely sure, and I just can't-" His brother was listening, and when America covered his face with his hands Veneziano reached out and carefully touched his arm. "All I can say is I'm sorry, I just don't know any other words… I can't even pray…"

He didn't want Veneziano burdened with things like that, but Romano still stayed quiet. He held his tongue and he didn't interfere, and he knew it was the right thing when Veneziano maintained his focus, when he didn't lose it and become distracted by something else going on around them. Maybe his brother was remembering the times when it had only been him and America left alive in the nightmares, but that didn't stop Veneziano from slowly coaxing America down until the younger nation was kneeling on the floor with his head down in Veneziano's lap. He showed America how to fold his hands together in prayer, and he hushed him with a gentle hand on his hair and complete, almost nurturing attention from above.

With America, Veneziano was reminded of where he'd been and of what had happened. Either he lost the will to panic and cower in its wake or he gained some kind of perspective that broke down the fear into something he could accept and manage. Romano didn't know which option was true; he just knew that it took all of his wavering strength not to hate America for being able to calm his brother, whereas whenever he showed his face Veneziano's world seemed to crumble all over again.

He was protective of Seborga and too ashamed to look Papa in the eye. He was desperate to please San Marino and willing to forgive America. But if he had to choose between the five of them then Veneziano would always look for and go to Romano first, because every little thing Romano did terrified him.

If he left the room unexpectedly then Veneziano would tear after him, if he picked up a knife in the kitchen then Veneziano would hover directly at his side until he put it down. If he was on the phone then his brother would pace back and forth nervously until it was over, and if he was reading something then he'd stand there torn between wanting to read over his shoulder or run away from the paper work.

Loud knocks, the door-bell, and ringing phones all set him off. Romano kept his phone on silent and warned the office away from calling the house phone until he just unplugged the damned thing. A week after he came home Veneziano had broken every analog clock in the house, including Romano's favourite pocket watch.

"That was a gift." From Veneziano himself, no less, a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old golden pocket watch. "I haven't wound it in years, it wasn't even ticking!" But it had still been smashed, and Veneziano was standing there looking shy and sheepish as he was scolded. Romano didn't want to yell at him, but, c'mon! "You owe me a new watch now, bastard!"

He never did find out what his brother did with the gold case and broken pieces after that, but it probably wasn't important. It meant more to him that Veneziano nodded at the demand, like he understood why Romano was mad at him, but not pissed enough to give him a good thrashing for it.

There were more than enough things wrong with his brother. He threw a fit whenever Romano left the house for a few hours of work, and he had to be talked down from a sharp panic after another week went by and San Marino had to go home. They were only a week and a bit from Christmas, but the tiny Republic was being called away by his boss.

"I'll be back by Christmas Morning, fratellino, I promise." There was still reconstruction going on in the east and people needed to see their Nation… "Hush, you don't need these tears…"

After two weeks Veneziano was better about touching, but not good, only better. He let San Marino gently touch his face and wipe away the tears. He soothed him with kind words while Romano and the others hung back, trying not to be too obvious about watching.

"When's your flight to New York?" Romano asked quietly, watching America fidget uncomfortably by the door.

"Not for a couple hours…" was the sullen answer, and then the younger nation gave him a hesitant glance. "Thanks for… everything, really." Romano just shrugged, aware of what he was trying to say but not about to dwell on it and make them both uncomfortable. After that last show of weakness some kind of breakthrough had been made by the American. He still wasn't eating enough for a nation his size, but he was sleeping. Romano was wary of dreams, but he felt better about letting America go home for the holidays knowing that he could actually close his eyes and get some rest.

"Just remember what I said." Romano repeated, keeping his voice low and leaning against the wall, arms folded. Vatican stepped outside to make sure the taxi was still waiting to take both America and San Marino to the airport, and Seborga drifted over to Veneziano to help calm him down. "I can't have you barging back in here, but the house in Naples is empty." And the key to the front door was on the ring America had slipped his finger through and stuffed in his pocket.

"You really don't have to do this…"

"If you don't need it then don't use it. But if you do then just make sure you leave my garden alone." Romano had had a new key cut just for today, because even though it was a small gesture he'd already assured America that if he chose to come back to Italy, the same rule about no unexpected or unwanted visitors would apply to the Neapolitan villa just like it did in the Roman townhouse. It wasn't unprecedented: it was just a very, very old kind of courtesy that had fallen by the wayside over a few thousand years.

China would recognize this gesture. Sometimes, if he tried hard enough, Romano could dredge up the ancient, immortal memories of a red lacquered house and Grandpa Rome singing to the fish pond. In the ages when committing to exploration had meant sacrificing several years just to travel, having a small place to call home, even if it was the furthest place from home, had been essential.

The Roman Empire had had it, so America was allowed to have it too.

"Alright, get out of here."

"Thank you, Romano."

"Out."

"Romano?"

"What?" South Italy was watching San Marino finally pull himself away from their brother, looking troubled as he picked up the small brief-case he'd brought with him for work- the case with his clothes in it was already in the taxi. When America kept bugging him, Romano looked away from Veneziano's devastated face and gave him a stiff glare.

"Next year." Next year what? America looked surprised for a moment, baby blue eyes wide as he seemed confused by the way he wasn't talking. "Not now, I mean-"

"English, you idiot." Romano interrupted. "You're going home, speak English."

America stopped and took a deep breath, an earnest expression no one had seen for months finally returning to his face. He looked so determined, but more like it was because he was proving something to himself rather than to anybody else.

"Christmas in New York." America said slowly, and Romano tilted his head to the side to show he was listening. "Not this year, but next year, I'd be honoured if you two would come and spend the Christmas season in New York."

"With all those lights and noise every-?"

"Tennessee then." America cut him off and then looked sorry for it, so Romano didn't snap at him. Where the hell was Tennessee? "I've got a ranch just outside of Memphis. It's quiet out there, just acres of rolling pasture and private land." Huh… well,

"Next Christmas is a long ways off." A lot could happen in just one year, look how much had happened to them just from this summer. The problem was that America had such a determined, anxious look on his face right now, pleading so fiercely with his eyes and pouting lip that Romano struggled to refuse. There, that was the American boy he was used to seeing. "We'll talk about it. Have a safe flight home, America."

It wasn't a no, but it wasn't a yes either. His words got America to smile- he didn't grin the way Romano sort of wished he would, but he took the words like a reward for trying so hard.

"Thank you." Yeah, yeah- "Thank you, thank you so much, I-"

-ACK.

"Put me down, you bastard!" Romano choked when he felt America wrap his arms around him in a crushing hug, the younger nation hoisting him into the air while he thrashed and hissed at him. "I said maybe! May-fucking-be! Let me go!"

His feet found the floor again and Romano stomped around in a tiny circle, swinging his arms just to show how fucking not fucking impressed he was with America's enthusiasm. But the kid was still grinning, and when Veneziano appeared at Romano's side with a worried expression, the older brother calmed down.

"Alright, I'll be back as soon as I can." San Marino repeated for the eightieth time, finally ready to go as Romano nodded and checked to make sure their younger brother was okay. He was obviously still upset, but Romano knew better than to try putting his arms around him…

"The taxi's waiting."

"Thanks, I mean it, really, thank you. And it'll be so awesome at my house!" For the first time in months, America sounded like himself, and Romano held his brother's hand while Veneziano nervously watched the younger nation work himself up with excitement. "We'll have a huge tree, two trees! One inside and one outside, and they'll be covered in lights- like, nice lights, not the laser flashing lights but cool white ones like stars. And there'll be candy, and carol singing and-"

"Hey! Why don't you worry more about this Christmas?" Romano interrupted, aware of Veneziano shuffling behind him and resting his forehead against the back of his shoulder. He was exhausted by all the change. "Good bye, Alfred."

"You're coming to the conference in February, right? Hong Kong? I'll see you there, right?" God he was like a little puppy all of the sudden!

"The taxi is leaving!" Vatican called.

"Alfred go!"

"Ciao, zio!" Wait- what? "I call shotgun!" Hey!

"Hey, you bastard!" Romano dragged Veneziano with him until he was shouting over the threshold. The taxi was pulling away as America jogged after it, the American pulling open the passenger-side door and swinging his bag in with a triumphant laugh. It was futile, but Romano shouted after him anyways:

"Idiot! Don't go calling people-!"

"See ya in Hong Kong, uncle!"

"HEY!"

But it was a little too late. The taxi sped up to merge with the light traffic down their street and it was gone around the bend before Romano could stop huffing and puffing. The last thing he heard was America's stupid laugh.

"Asshole!" Romano shouted, just on principle.

"Aw, I thought it was kinda cute, you know?" Seborga preened from behind them, grinning sheepishly when Romano rounded on him with a glare. "Hey! He's young, what's the harm?"

"He has bad luck with brothers-"

"But he called you his un-"

"Shut up!" Seborga giggled and Romano heard Vatican sigh down on the sidewalk, Romano scowling at his stupid brother before turning to the one who was still shyly clinging to his arm. Veneziano was teetering over the threshold but refused to step out across it, his fingertips grasping the edge of Romano's shirt without letting go. He didn't look scared, but he was getting anxious again, his brown eyes snapping quickly between the three of them and riddled with apprehension.

"Come on, you," Romano scolded, brushing Veneziano's hand off before quickly stepping back inside. "You and I have some work to do. Upstairs, c'mon."

"Work?" Seborga repeated,

"In his condition?" Papa chimed in. "You can't be seri-"

"Oh, stop it! He's fine for this!" Veneziano was confused, just confused as they all stepped back into the house, the door closing and calming him down with the quiet. Romano just jabbed him in the shoulder with one finger though, getting his attention before wagging that finger in front of him to keep it.

"You listen to me," he said clearly, not trying to threaten his little brother, but he wanted his focus. Veneziano was bad about focusing. "You don't like it when the house is empty, do you?" It wasn't really a yes or no question, at least not worded like that; it took his brother a moment to work through the logic before he shook his head. No, he did not like it. "Do you want to see your friends again?"

It took another moment, but as soon as he understood Veneziano sucked in a breath, his shoulders hitching up as his eyes widened and-

"Hey- hey! Stop that." Romano caught his attention again, watching his brother take another breath and hold it tight, cowering and trying to fight off the panic. "Stop it, not those friends. I mean your other friends." Other friends… Veneziano was pleading with his eyes, still stuck on the other reference, still lagging behind and focusing on the wrong point.

"Romano, he's tired-"

"Shut up, it's a simple question." He answered Vatican but didn't take his gaze off his brother, watching Veneziano swallow hard and try to understand what was being asked of him.

"Do you want to see our neighbours?" And he didn't mean- "not the ones outside, I mean our neighbours. Our economic partners. Stop thinking like a person, Veneziano and think like a nation." That comment caught him off guard, and Veneziano closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head a little like he was dizzy. He reached out and Romano let him grab his wrist and slump over against his shoulder, sort of like he had before except a bit more dramatic. Maybe he was too tired… Maybe it was still too much too soon.

"Come on," Romano sighed, prodding him gently with one hand, encouraging him to slowly try picking himself up and standing on his own. "We'll take a short siesta, okay? You'll feel better and we'll talk then." Or, Romano would talk and Veneziano would just stare blankly at nothing… But his brother met his eyes again and Romano felt guilty for the harsh thought, silently thankful that Veneziano let him reach out a hand and touch his face without flinching…

"Just for heaven's sake, Veneziano… stop crying…"

Wait, so Romano told Al he could stay as long as he needed, and then in the next scene he left the house? Yes, mostly because that first conversation covered the same basic ground in a different way from how I'd planned, and the only thing I could have put in between was unnecessary filler. It's a bit abrupt, but I think it's fine for now.

You guys have a bad habit of leaving me with silly review totals, first 69 and now 74? That's very mean. But as I will either earn my ESL-teacher wings or BURN and DIE and HUMILIATION and OH GOD WHY tomorrow then here you go, some Alfred not being a douche, and Matthew running like a little girl, and Lovi being a really swell dude.

OH GOD WHY