Chapter 28

"Are you going to watch one of those stupid television shows again?" Ivan asked frowning. He'd finally found his two closest friends in Yao and Kiku's room, the three of them (Alfred, Yao and Kiku) crowded around a computer monitor talking excitedly about characters as if they were real.

Well, mostly it was Alfred and Kiku talking excitedly, while Yao wore a smug little expression that revealed to Ivan he was attempting to matchmake.

"It is so funny how you both love this show so much," Yao remarked, with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. Kiku flushed with color, his pale cheeks darkening very noticeably, while Alfred obliviously smiled.

"Yeah! It was kinda random how me and Kiku started watching that last one. You wanna watch with us, Ivan?" Alfred asked, twisting around to look at him. Ivan snorted and dropped onto Yao's perfectly made bed, using his panda as a pillow.

"No. I hate squinting at those tiny little subtitles, and none of them ever fuck each other," Ivan commented. Kiku frowned primly, and Yao shot him a half-amused, half-chastising expression. Alfred had been very happy to see Yao spending less time hanging around himself the past few weeks, and more time with Ivan. It seemed Yao was coming to terms with the darker aspect of Ivan's nature, and was learning to accept it. It was easy to forget it was even there most days. Since reuniting with Yao, Ivan had been downright happy-go-lucky.

But he still wouldn't be lured into watching an Asian drama. Not as obsessed as the other two, Yao missed part of the first episode because he was cuddling with Ivan on his bed, whispering something about Kiku and Alfred. Kiku strained his ears to hear, paranoid his roommate was telling his secret, but Alfred had tunnel vision for the television.

Kiku reluctantly was sucked into the show, his dark eyes alternating between watching the characters and flickering to Alfred. He couldn't help but notice how the other boy had changed over their freshman year. He was still fairly thin, but all of his rugby practice had padded him with rather nice musculature. His shoulders were broad, and Kiku was distracted by thoughts of how nice it might be to have Alfred's arms wrapped around him. They looked so strong and appealing. Kiku had not been exposed to Americans much at all before coming to World Academy, and while he found many of Alfred's mannerisms and customs unsettling, he couldn't deny that he was beginning to have a bit of a crush on his roommate's friend.

Sometimes, Alfred would glance at him in a way that was the total opposite of obliviousness, as if he were very aware of Kiku's blushes and stammering—as he if found him just a little bit cute, too. Kiku had never really thought much about romance before, but he'd spent the first six months of school as the third wheel to Ludwig and Feliciano, and the sexual tension building between those two was impossible to ignore. It had made him start to examine his own heart, and his heart had led him to noticing Alfred Jones.

But it was still very new, and Kiku didn't dare say anything. He knew the American boy was possibly dating Arthur from the student council. If he wasn't dating him, then they were at least very close. Kiku probably didn't have a chance. Yao had suspected the reason for his occasional melancholy looks around Alfred and heckled him until he'd confessed his crush. Despite being casual friends with Arthur, Yao insisted Alfred was a much better match for him, and so had been trying to help set them up.

For the entire month of January, Alfred had seemed fairly oblivious to this plan. Speaking of Alfred, the boy in question felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and he asked Kiku to pause the drama.

"One second. This is probably Matthew," he said. Kiku frowned ever-so-slightly, and stopped the drama. Alfred read his text message, his brows furrowing down in displeasure.

"What is it?" Kiku asked.

"It's from my dad. He hasn't messaged me since my mom's visit went so badly. Now he says…he says he's coming to my last rugby game this season to watch me play and to talk about things," Alfred said, his tone dark.

"Your dad…the President, right?" Kiku confirmed. Alfred glanced up distractedly and nodded.

"Yeah. His visit is probably work related. I seriously doubt he's just coming to see me screw up a rugby game."

"Oh," Kiku replied, not quite knowing what to say. Alfred's usually chipper mood had crashed. The American boy started to stand up.

"Hey, listen, you guys start without me. I need to go talk to Arthur about this," he said. Kiku and Yao exchanged quick glances, and both of them protested at the same time.

"But we were just starting the show," Yao said. Kiku, however, being a very smart kid, tried a different approach.

"Oh…I am sorry you are leaving, Alfred-kun. I was going to make you Japanese food," Kiku said. Alfred paused at the door, his big blue eyes opening wide in surprise.

"Really? Man, Kiku, that's super nice of you! What are you making?" Alfred asked. Kiku blushed, feeling a little embarrassed now that everyone's attention was on himself.

"I thought…we could make rice balls."

"That sounds cool! I wanna learn how. I can talk to Arthur about my dad later…he probably still doesn't want to talk to me much anyway. He's always busy hanging out with that jerk Celio these days," Alfred complained, returning to the rug. Kiku flashed a small smile, but on the inside he was cheering. Yao flashed him a secretive thumbs up behind Alfred's head, and Ivan rolled his eyes and snorted at their antics.

Though Kiku had never thought he'd be using the advice instead of it being applied to himself, his mother had always told him the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. His desire to go talk with his old roommate forgotten, Alfred put the call from his father out of his mind and returned to watching the episode.

Kiku waited till the credits were rolling before he brought up a subject he knew Alfred would have a lot to say about.

"The first meeting of the Hero Club is soon, right?" Kiku confirmed. "I saw the posters around campus—they looked very good."

"Thanks! Yeah, we're meeting up tomorrow in the gym. You should totally come!" Alfred said. Kiku flushed with color.

"O-okay," Kiku said. After a moment of blushing and feeling embarrassed he hastily added, "Can Ludwig and Feliciano come, too?"

"Sure, man, the more the merrier!" Alfred said, clearly happy that someone was expressing interest in joining his club. Still blushing faintly, and ignoring Yao's snickering, Kiku started the next episode.

They watched another two before Ivan's complaints of boredom finally convinced them to stop and break for an early dinner. Kiku brought out his miniature rice cooker and by mixing the food supplies their parents had sent them, Yao and Kiku managed to assemble a fairly delicious meal. It made for a nice break from the British cafeteria food, and Alfred and Ivan practically inhaled it. Kiku was a little horrified by how much Alfred could pack away, but Yao seemed accustomed to it already and kept telling him "Just triple the recipe—trust me!"

Kiku had taught Alfred how to measure the water in the rice cooker so that it was the perfect amount, and showed him the trick of salting his hands before rolling the rice. Even after he'd consumed nearly fifteen rice balls, Alfred began assembling another one.

"I'll take it with me—don't want it to go to waste!" Alfred chirruped. Kiku was pleased that the American boy liked his cooking so much and flashed him a shy smile.

"I will cook for you again sometime. Japanese food is very healthy," he said. Snickering into his last rice ball (the first time he'd seemed so happy in quite awhile) Yao felt the need to comment.

"This is almost like a double date!" he said. Now Alfred was oblivious, but he wasn't that oblivious. His eyes flew nervously to Kiku's, who blushed and looked away hastily. The mood turned a little awkward.

"Err…well hey! It's been really fun…but I gotta go. I'll see you guys at the meeting?" Alfred said, excusing himself. Kiku nodded, unable to meet Alfred's eyes, and Yao smirked.

"We will definitely be there," Yao said. Ivan grinned in wicked amusement at Alfred's discomfort and waved casually goodbye.

"Cool. Okay…bye then!" Alfred left, the little rice ball held carefully in his hand. Once he was out in the hallway, he took a moment to puzzle over Yao's pointed comment and shook his head.

"He must have been just joking around, because of how much I've been hanging out with him and Kiku lately," Alfred assured himself. Feeling a little less embarrassed, Alfred headed down the halls of the dorm until he reached Arthur's door.

He knocked, not really expecting an answer. After the whole mess with the flowers and the video leaking two weeks before, Alfred had hoped Arthur's anger with him would have cooled somewhat, but things still felt tense. It didn't help that Alfred had expected Arthur to never associate with Celio again, but Arthur didn't act as if the other boy had done anything dishonorable. When Alfred had finally confronted him about it all, Arthur had just blushed and said that it had been his own fault for getting drunk and that Celio didn't have any obligations to babysit him all night. He'd gone on to make a rather jaded comment about chivalry being dead, and that he was quite capable of taking care of himself. Alfred had disagreed with that (what else would Arthur have done that night if Alfred hadn't come for him?) but his roommate seemed to want to gloss over the incident and put it firmly in the category of 'it never happened.' At least they were talking again, though it was minimal, and Arthur didn't seem to fly into a rage upon just seeing him.

All of that was good, because Alfred was starting to realize just how badly he had it for the other boy. Matthew hypothesized that Alfred only wanted Arthur more now that he thought he couldn't have him, and when Alfred was being very honest with himself, he knew that was at least partially true.

But he did care about Arthur—loved him even—or at least thought he did. He couldn't stop thinking about him, for one thing, and his so called crush on Ivan had vanished after just one week of living with the other boy. Ivan, being the most masculine out of the group, thought nothing of taking a massive crap and then calling Alfred in to smell it, or wearing the same T-shirt for days on end until it started reeking. He didn't shave, half the time he forgot deodorant, and there was nothing cute about Ivan when he was drunk. Ivan was hard-edged all the time, and he never seemed to soften up and show a more vulnerable side. Even when he was being all mushy with Yao, he was still a little disturbingly intense.

But spending so much time with Ivan made Alfred appreciate what he'd had with Arthur. He obsessed over memories of quiet, lazy Saturdays spent playing computer games and reading, just relaxing together and joking around. He thought fondly of how they teased each other all the time, and shared inside jokes about teachers and classmates. He remembered all the little things Arthur was always doing for him, like helping him to study, and helping him keep up with his laundry. Arthur had taken care of him, and it was because of Arthur that Alfred hadn't been homesick at all. As easy as it was to talk to Matthew, and as much fun as he had hanging out with Ivan, there was just something special about his time with Arthur. Alfred was finally ready to admit that special something might just be love. Of course, now it felt like he was too late.

Arthur had still not answered, and Alfred imagined he was hanging out with Celio's band, or worse, just Celio by himself. Alfred let his head thump despairingly against Arthur's door, wishing he hadn't taken so long to wise up, but not quite sure what he could do to fix things. Matthew had patched things up with Francis over what Alfred felt was a much more serious offense, but there he was, standing in the hallway like a loser all because he'd run away from Arthur's confession—a confession he now wanted to return. It just didn't seem fair.

"I said I wouldn't wait for you, you know. I don't know why you're so insistent on hanging about all the time now. You couldn't get away fast enough before," Arthur said from behind, startling Alfred. The rugby player turned, nearly dropping the little rice ball, and carefully assessed Arthur's body as he always did these days (partially because he couldn't get enough of staring at the other boy, and partially because he was looking for Celio's marks on his skin). Today, Arthur was wearing a pair of jeans Alfred recognized, but they had some new tears intentionally added, as well as a patch sewn on. Alfred never thought the day would come when he'd miss the sight of Arthur in a sweater vest and neatly pressed slacks, but the form-fitting band T-shirt the other boy wore (it must have been a new addition to his wardrobe) made Alfred a little sad.

Trying to hide his hurt at the other boy's harsh words, Alfred extended his peace offering. Arthur raised an eyebrow skeptically, not making any move to take it.

"I made you one. They're really pretty good. Kiku showed me how," Alfred said. Arthur turned his nose up at the rice ball and moved past Alfred, unlocking his door.

"So it's Kiku now, is it? Poor Ivan will be devastated, I'm sure," Arthur said with biting sarcasm. Alfred flinched, but refused to give up. If he just held his tongue and took whatever Arthur could dish out, eventually the other boy would run out of steam and forgive him. Alfred could only hope it wouldn't be too late by then.

"I don't have a crush on Kiku, or on Ivan," Alfred replied, trying to be mature. Arthur, however, just shot him a dark glare over his shoulder and slipped into his room. When he hit the lights, Alfred could see that the room had changed, too. Now there were posters on the wall of guys with crazy colored hair and grungy looking clothing.

"You got posters," Alfred said, hoping it would spark a conversation, or maybe Arthur would see his interest and invite him inside to talk about the bands he was so enamored with these days. Arthur just stood in his doorway, waiting for Alfred to dig his hole deeper. Starting to feel embarrassed, the American boy extended his pitiful looking little rice ball once more. Arthur sneered.

"I'm really not hungry. Look, if you didn't drop by for any real reason—"

"I got a text from my dad," Alfred blurted. Arthur looked a little annoyed, but he didn't close the door at least.

"Yeah?" he said grudgingly. Alfred nodded, his expression sinking into one of despair.

"He's coming to see me play the last rugby game of the season…said he wanted to talk about stuff," Alfred said. Arthur's prickly stance relaxed ever so slightly, indicating that he wasn't entirely past the point of being able to feel compassion for his old friend and crush.

"Shit luck," Arthur said, and Alfred blinked in surprise at the curse word. Sure, they cursed, but Arthur had never made a habit of doing it so casually before. For a surreal moment, Alfred stared at Arthur and felt like he was looking at a total stranger. The boy in front of him didn't dress like his Arthur, he didn't talk like him or smile like he did—he was pissy on a good day and horrid on a bad one. This strange, new boy had disappointed his parents, the school had forced him into mandatory community service, and he spent all his time with slimy upperclassmen that were obviously only interested in him for one reason. He didn't study as much as he had before, and he went everywhere with earbuds jammed in his ears to block out his classmates. The words slipped out without Alfred really meaning for them to escape him.

"You've changed, Arthur," Alfred said quietly, the pain and regret evident in his voice. For a moment, Arthur's eyes softened into the fond, exasperated look Alfred knew so well, but then those eyes were gone, replaced once more by bitter green.

"Yeah, well, people change. You're different, too, these days," Arthur pointed out. Alfred scowled in confusion. He hadn't changed—certainly not like Arthur had. The other boy realized he didn't understand. "You look more and more like your rugby mates every day. All your T-shirts have gotten tight, but you still wear them anyway, and hanging out with Ivan so much has made you think you're the big man on campus."

Alfred realized with a blush that all of that was true. He had been more confident lately, both about his body and in his attitude. He'd spent most of his time since school resumed either helping Ivan with his rehabilitation exercise, or messing around with the guys on the rugby team. Even though he still chatted pretty regularly with Matthew, he'd made less time for the soft-spoken boy. For once, Alfred felt accepted by his peers—not just tolerated, but truly one of the group. They really were both changing, and it suddenly made Alfred feel like panicking.

He just wanted everything to be the same again. He wanted to go back in time and handle things differently. He just wanted Arthur back, so that his world wouldn't feel so off-kilter.

"Arthur…please…it can't be too late," Alfred said. He'd never felt so ridiculous, standing in the middle of the hallway on the verge of tears, clutching a crumbling rice ball, begging his old friend to stop growing away from him. Arthur took a shaky step back, and gently began to close the door.

"You…you need to leave now," Arthur said. He closed the door on Alfred, and on all his feelings of regret. For a split-second, Alfred wanted to chunk the rice ball at the door with all his might, but instead he swallowed thickly and stepped back, smoothing the napkin wrapped around the rice ball and setting it gently outside Arthur's door. He left quietly, with a defeated slump to his shoulders.

He'd only been gone from the hallway a few minutes before the door cracked open cautiously again, and Arthur peered out. Seeing that Alfred was gone, he sunk to his knees, biting his lip, and stared at the rice ball, allowing all the sadness and pain to finally show in his eyes. Why did his pride have to get in the way? Why couldn't he just let them be happy now that Alfred finally wanted him?

'Because he's already broken my heart once. I can't trust him with it again,' Arthur thought. Sadly, Arthur picked up the little rice ball with gentle affection. He cupped it in his hands a few moments before he stood, closed his door more firmly this time, and took the food offering to the waste bin.

USUK

Arthur slung his bag down in the music room, sitting down at the electric keyboard while he waited for the rest of the band to show up. Technically, he hadn't joined them, but he liked to listen to them rehearse and sometimes his knowledge of musical theory helped them improve rough patches in their playing. While Arthur liked to drown in his hardcore punk, he still loved to listen to Celio sing his sad, longing songs, while the guitar trailed after him like a forlorn lover. He pulled out the sheet music covered in his own hand-written notes. Arthur had spent years playing, but he'd never attempted composing something entirely original before. He had created passages to play that would improve his fingering, and his technical ability, but he'd never created to express himself.

Celio had been helping him with the process, but it was slow going. Arthur played the first few bars, his mind wandering away. He would see Alfred again that afternoon after the band's rehearsal—he had to attend the Hero Club meeting.

The door opened and Antonio came in, looking a little surprised to see him there so early. The Spanish boy put his bag down and moved to the drums, checking them over before he beat out a quick little rhythm.

The two of them really didn't really interact much. Aside from being Gabriel's roommate, he didn't spend much time with the other boy outside of the band rehearsals. It was hard for Arthur to get a good read on Antonio. While he acted friendly enough with Gabriel and even Celio, he was always reserved with Arthur, and sometimes Arthur caught him staring at him rather intently for no discernable reason.

"I noticed Celio added another sticker to his guitar case," Antonio remarked. Arthur shot the other boy a weird look, saying without words that he didn't understand why such a remark was of any importance. Antonio gave him another one of those long, seemingly pointless looks before he shifted his focus back to the faces of his drums.

"Didn't you know? He puts a sticker on his case each time he fucks a virgin. You're the new sticker, yes?" Antonio said casually.

Arthur froze, all the color draining from his face. Antonio glanced at him carelessly.

"You seemed like a pretty smart guy, but I guess not as smart as all that. I thought…just maybe…you were different. You seemed to have some self-respect." Antonio shrugged carelessly, then, as if admitting he had been wrong. "You should get checked out at a clinic, considering how Celio gets around," he added offhandedly. Arthur swallowed thickly, his green eyes burning holes through the white keys under his fingers.

He'd known Celio didn't love him. They had messed around, and watched porn together. The casual touching had escalated into Arthur giving his first blowjob, and just a few nights previously, Celio had persuaded him into topping him, since he hadn't been entirely comfortable with the idea of bottoming. The experience hadn't been bad, per say, but it hadn't been great, either. Arthur hadn't felt any different afterwards, just a little hollow and dirty. He'd taken a shower, though about Alfred but realized he didn't have any tears left, and gone about his normal routine.

Now he was a fucking sticker, and despite his dad's embarrassing warnings, Arthur hadn't even thought about protection. Antonio was right—he was a fucking idiot.

Celio entered the room, casually talking to Gabriel. Arthur glanced up, his expression unreadable. There was the boy he had slept with for the first time, the boy whose cock had been in his mouth, the boy who had placed him on his guitar case like a trophy.

Arthur's eyes dropped to said case, which he'd never really paid much attention to before. It was colorful, though. Big stickers, little ones, some for radio stations and some for bands Arthur didn't recognize. All in all, there were about twenty stickers on the case—and the newest one up near the neck of the guitar—a shiny sticker for the band they'd seen in concert at the beginning of the month: The Hollows.

It was ironically appropriate, because it was just how looking at that stupid fucking sticker made him feel.

"Hey, angel, you're here early," Celio said. Nothing about him had changed. He was still charming and friendly, slipping out of any conflict or confrontation with the agility of a greased up eel. His handsome, tanned face was curious, his hazel eyes both mischievous and flirtatious. Arthur couldn't even claim that he'd been duped—he'd known from the beginning what Celio was. He'd claimed he wouldn't fall for his tricks, claimed to see right through him, but somehow he'd ended up used anyway. Celio masked just how ugly his intentions were by hiding them in plain sight.

Arthur stood, his eyes riveted to the guitar case. Perhaps sensing the danger, Antonio called out a warning.

"Man, watch your guitar!"

But it was too late. Arthur had bolted from his seat and grabbed the guitar case right out of Celio's hands. He ran with it, his sneakers pounding against the floor. Celio came tearing after him, but Arthur was too quick. He lost him in a tangle of hallways, just running, with no destination in mind.

Celio loved his guitar more than he loved himself, which was saying something. Arthur didn't have a concrete plan yet, but he was pretty sure he was going to torch it—possibly burning the school down with it. His eyes were so filled with imaginary flames that he didn't realize he'd run into someone until he was skidding against the floor, and the hard guitar case went clattering out of his arms.

"Hey! Watch where you're—Arthur?" Alfred asked in surprise. The British boy kept his head ducked down, unable to even look up. Of course it was Alfred. It was always Alfred. Suddenly, the other boy was in front of him, a gentle hand under his chin. "You're crying," Alfred said, clearly worried.

"I need…to destroy this guitar," Arthur said. Alfred was obviously confused, and distressed because Arthur was upset. His baby blues trailed to the guitar case that wasn't Arthur's, and then back to the green-eyed boy.

"Why?" Alfred asked.

"Because it's Celio's…and now I'm on it."

"I'm still not following…" Alfred said. Alfred wiped away Arthur's tears with his thumbs, since Arthur didn't seem to care that they were there.

"He took my virginity, and so he put a sticker on his guitar case. I'm that one there on the neck."

Alfred was entirely silent for a long time. Unable to bear looking at him, Arthur's eyes fell to the floor again. Finally, Alfred spoke.

"We need to take it back to him. Come on, Arthur," Alfred said. Realizing how crazily he'd acted, Arthur closed his eyes tightly for a moment and then stood. Calmly, as if he hadn't heard Arthur's words at all, as if he didn't even bloody care, Alfred picked up the guitar case. Without a word, they began walking down the hall.

"I don't have anything worth giving anymore," Arthur said, coming to a slow stop in the hallway. Alfred stopped a few steps ahead of him, and Arthur finally noticed all the tension in the other boy's shoulders. Then, slowly, Alfred turned backwards and extended his hand. There was no other word for the emotion shining in his eyes. It was love, pure and simple.

Hesitant, jaded, and simply tired, Arthur put his hand in Alfred's, and they walked together.

They found Celio in the general vicinity of the music room. He relaxed visibly upon seeing his guitar, but stepped back nervously at the sight of Alfred. The rugby player released Arthur's hand, and shrugged out of his beloved jacket. He handed it to Arthur.

Then he extended the guitar case to Celio.

"This is yours, isn't it?" Alfred asked. Celio nodded, and hesitantly came forward to grab his precious guitar. His eyes darted nervously towards Arthur, who simply clutched Alfred's jacket.

"What Antonio told you…about the stickers…it doesn't really mean anything, Arthur," Celio tried to explain. Arthur flinched, hugging the jacket tighter. He didn't say anything.

"You might want to put your guitar down now," Alfred said calmly. Arthur glanced at Alfred, confusion evident on his face. Celio sat his guitar down, clearly unsure how to interpret the situation. It all became pretty clear, however, when Alfred's fist came hurtling towards his face.

Celio made a point to try and avoid fighting, but he'd had his fair share of scrapes. He was two years Alfred's senior, too, and not out of shape by any means. They exchanged blows, rolling about on the ground, while Arthur watched with huge green eyes. Alfred managed to get in several heavy blows to Celio's face, which seemed to be where he was trying to do the most damage. Alfred's glasses were knocked off in the fray, and Arthur grabbed for them automatically. Finally, his brain seemed to catch up with his eyes.

"Alfred! Stop!"

But Alfred wasn't stopping. He wrestled his way onto Celio's chest, his fist pummeling against the other boy's jaw once, twice, and a third time before Arthur caught him around the middle and pulled him off, using all his strength to do so.

Celio staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his nose and busted lip. His face was already swelling up horrifically. Alfred's hair was in disarray, his shirt was ripped, and he'd cut the inside of his lips up against his braces.

Arthur stood bracingly in front of Alfred, half-holding him back, half-protecting him should Celio grow a backbone and try attacking him again. Alfred spat a mouthful of blood into the hallway.

"Don't ever touch him again," Alfred said in a cold voice Arthur had never heard before. He glanced up in surprise, shocked by how different this tone was from anything Alfred normally spoke in. The carefree, sweet, bumbling American boy was gone. In his place stood a man, one who knew no fear and had no restraint. Every muscle was tensed, his fists were balled up tightly, and his eyes glittered with ferocity and the determination to protect the boy he loved.

"Stay the fuck away from me! He's all yours!" Celio spat back, grasping wildly for his guitar before retreating down the hall as fast as he could run. Alfred finally exhaled, and winced at the sharp pain the accompanied the motion.

"Alfred…" Arthur trailed off wondrously. With surprising suddenness, Alfred cupped a hand around Arthur's jaw and pulled their faces close together. Arthur thought he was about to be kissed, but instead Alfred stared deeply into his eyes, their foreheads pressed together.

"Listen. You've already given me the only thing that matters. I didn't take care of it like I should have, but I'm not going to let anyone, myself included, ever hurt your heart again. I promise, and gentlemen and heroes always keep their promises."

"Oh…that's quite…Alfred…now…now would be a really good time to kiss me," Arthur said, a little breathless. Alfred grinned, his other hand moving to wrap around Arthur's waist. Instantly, like a cloud drifting away from the sun, Alfred—(sweet, wonderful, beautiful) Alfred was back, his blue eyes filled with pure joy.

"Really? I was thinking so, too. Are you sure you don't want to go to the library? We can go, if you want," Alfred joked. Arthur shook his head, stifling his own grin. Finally, unable to resist a second longer, he stretched onto his tiptoes and pressed his lips against Alfred's. He poured everything (more than he even realized he had) into the kiss that suddenly righted everything that had been wrong about the world.

The jacket slipped to the ground between them. Alfred backed Arthur up gently, until he felt the wall at his back. With the taller boy's glasses still dangling in his grip, he wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck and reveled in the feel of Alfred's hands, the smell of his body, the feel of his hair. Alfred's kiss healed him and made him feel invincible. They parted for air, blue eyes locked with green, the moment hanging between them like the silence after a beautiful explosion of fireworks.

"I should have done that a long time ago, huh?" Alfred asked, his smile nearly ear to ear. Arthur nodded, and then buried his face against Alfred's shoulder, hugging the other boy tightly.

"You're just slow on the uptake," he said. "Always," he added fondly. Alfred laughed, hugging him back.

"So was I heroic or what? I mean…that was pretty awesome, right?" Alfred said. Arthur laughed, his eyes shining with love when he turned them upwards to meet Alfred's gaze.

"I don't know…I think I upstaged you when I took on half the rugby stadium for you," Arthur replied. Alfred pouted.

"It was only like three guys!"

"Yeah…but they were just the only ones with a poster. Really, pretty much everyone was booing you."

"Now you're just being a meanie!" Alfred replied, sticking out his tongue. Arthur grinned, and kissed his cheek affectionately.

"You're my hero, alright? Is that what you want to hear?" Arthur said, leaning comfortably into Alfred's embrace. The American teen grinned, confidence restored.

"Yep!" he chirruped back. He bit his lips, suddenly looking a bit shy, before he kissed Arthur again. "I could…get used to this," he mumbled in between his sloppy little kisses. Arthur let his eyes drift shut in bliss. Sure, they were awkward at it, and he felt Alfred's braces against his lips, and the other boy tasted like the coppery tang of blood, but really, all that aside, kissing Alfred Jones felt a bit like jumping out of a plane and free falling, his heart hammering in his chest, his insides tangled up in knots, flying like a bird thousands of feet off the ground.

A/N: So, was it worth the wait? I hope it was. I planned to put more in this chapter, but I also wanted to end it right where it is, since I'm going out of town this weekend and I won't be updating, though I might post something Sunday night. I didn't want to leave you all on a cliffhanger. Thanks, as usual, for all the wonderful feedback and support!