In which Berwald is a precious cinnamon roll, too good for this world.

After Berwald helped free him, Arthur entertained a fleeting thought to turn tail and run for his life. But he was a gentleman (and he wouldn't doubt that Berwald, with his mighty stature, would outrun him in any race). Arthur would face his end with dignity. Who knows, Berwald could be merciful and simply hand him over to the cops. Handcuffs sounded safer than Berwald's icy stare.

"Want to come over for some coffee?"

And that was it. No moral driven threats or lectures. No promise to tell Francis or call the authorities. No more questions other than an inquiry for coffee.

Arthur gulped and lied, "That sounds lovely."

Thus bringing him to this present situation of coffee and cake in the Swede's home. Arthur surreptitiously peeked around the room, noting the cozy, cream floral wallpaper, a painting of an apple orchard, and an open-faced, brown cupboard exhibiting rows of multicolored glass figurines.

"I made 'em."

Arthur inhaled in surprise and yanked his sights back to his host. "Sorry?"

"I made 'em," Berwald repeated, nodding his head towards the pretty display. "I like workin' with glass. Wood too."

"Oh? They're quite marvelous," Arthur said, not lying this time. The delicate pieces—forming slender-necked vases, bowls, or animals like birds—composed an array of burnt ambers and swirling blues. They really were impressive. Arthur wouldn't believe this large man in front of him had crafted art so delicate, had he not been told from the horse's mouth.

Berwald hummed in thanks.

Arthur tapped nervously at the mug between his hands. He remembered the broken vase, how it had laid in black and gold pieces across the floor, so close to his face. If he hadn't have gotten stuck on that blasted window. . .

There were more pressing matters to deal with at the moment, like why Berwald had invited him over of all things. What would prompt the bespectacled man to do such a thing? Well, what does one expect when you invite them over for coffee?

Wait. . . . This wasn't a . . .

"This isn't a date, is it?" Arthur blurted. No other conclusion made sense. Upon seeing Arthur break the law, infatuation had overcome Berwald. He seemed like the type to live life dangerously, and once he discovered Arthur's bad boy tendencies, he sought to stake a claim. And Arthur, unable to dissuade the Swede, would be forced to occupy his interest until it led to holy matrimony and a plethora of viking babies. How would Arthur break the news to his mother?

"No, s'not," Berwald said, expression unflinching. "Why would it?"

"I, uh . . . I mean . . ." Arthur floundered for words and failed horribly.

Berwald shook his head in disappointment. "I can see that you're tryin' to change the subject."

"I—I am?"

"Mm," Berwald intoned gravely. "I know what's goin' on with you and Francis."

Drat, so he knew about the whole debacle from the start. How cunning of him, to mislead Arthur with coffee and cake.

"Are you going to blackmail me then?" Arthur asked, sitting up straighter. What would someone like Berwald want in exchange for silence? Money was always a good incentive. How much would he request? Odds were that Arthur couldn't afford it. The only reason he lived in a house on his own was because it was his mother's house, the home where he and his brothers grew up. Currently, she had been working for the last year or so in the US. Peter had followed along with her, still only fifteen. The rest of his brothers were scattered across the UK.

"No, I'm not," Berwald replied. Hearing that, Arthur sighed through his nose, relieved. But he tensed again when Berwald continued, "That wasn't the best way to go about it."

So he was just going to lecture him. Arthur could live with that.

"How else was I supposed to go about it? I surely wasn't about to confront Francis on the matter."

Berwald shrugged. "Ya could get 'em flowers."

Sorry I broke your vase, Francis. Here are some flowers. Oh, sorry? You don't have a vase to put them in? You could always shove them down your throat. Or up your arse.

That would go over well.

Arthur grimaced. "I doubt that would be effective."

"You'll never know 'til ya try. Better than bein' so obsessive."

"Look Berwald, I appreciate the advice, but I. . . . Obsessive? What do you mean obsessive?"

"You're kinda obvious," he said, taking a drink from his own mug.

"Obsessive of Francis? Rubbish." Francis may be a royal thorn in his side, what with always stopping by and nagging him, and then the occasional run about the yard where Francis ran screaming for his life while Arthur tried to strangle him, but he didn't allow the Frenchman enough value in his life to call his loathing of the man an obsession.

"You don't have to lie. I don't judge," Berwald said as if to placate him. "I've seen ya together. All the tension."

Arthur had the decency to look somewhat ashamed. The two of them could get rather loud. "I'm terribly sorry if any of our disputes have disturbed you, but I assure you, I'm not lying."

"S'fine. Not too healthy for the relationship I imagine. But to each their own."

"It's not like it matters. We've always been this way, and we always will." Distracted by the conversation, Arthur took a sip of his coffee. He forced himself not to cringe or cough at the strong richness of the brew. People drank this on a daily basis?

"If you think like that, nothing will change," Berwald said. "You should talk to him. Tell him how you really feel."

"How I feel?" Arthur was startled into a cough. He sat down his mug and tried to stifle the itch in his throat. "He's daft, but I'm sure I get my message across."

"No. You've gotta be direct. Tell him you want him."

"W-want him?"

"Mm. Make him your wife."

Any self-restraint in letting his emotions play in his expression slipped entirely. Arthur gawked at the serious man in front of him. This had to be a dream, some trip to Wonderland. Because surely his neighbor wasn't insinuating that Arthur . . . that he and Francis. . . .

"Oh . . ." Arthur uttered.

Then he laughed.

He couldn't help it. It was ludicrous, that anyone would suggest that Arthur and Francis form a romantic relationship. Disturbing even, to the point that Arthur laughed hysterically. He held his belly and leaned to the side, giving in to the ridiculousness of this whole day.

"Why're you laughing?" Berwald asked, gauging him. Uneasiness tinged his gaze, like he was uncomfortable at his own confusion. "Intervention's aren't funny."

"Is—is this what this is about?" Arthur wheezed. He should really get ahold of himself, but damn if this wasn't the most hilarious thing he'd heard in his life. He'd think the man was pulling his leg, but Berwald appeared so solemn about the whole ordeal that it left no doubt in Arthur's mind of his sincere intentions.

Berwald averted his eyes to the table and shrugged. "You and Francis needed help. Thought I could."

"Berwald, forgive me for laughing, but Francis and I aren't romantically inclined towards each other whatsoever. You have my word on that."

"You're not?" he asked doubtfully.

"Good lord, no. I'd sooner snog a lint roller. I can't stand the bastard. I can't imagine us dating without wanting to kill each other for every second of it."

Berwald tilted his head, unsure how to take this development. He glanced towards a wall, in the direction of Arthur's and ultimately Francis's house as if he could see the window where he'd rescued Arthur. "Then why were you sneakin' in his house?"

"Yes, that. You see, my cat has a nose for trouble. He somehow managed to get into Francis's house. For the life of me, I can't figure how. But the short of it is that Francis wasn't home and I didn't want to waste any time in retrieving my pet."

"That's it?"

"That's it," Arthur agreed, smiling good-naturedly. It took a little more than that to convince Berwald. By the end of it, the man was covering his face, palms pressing into his glasses in order to hide his embarrassment.

"I feel foolish now," Berwald admitted.

"It's alright, mate," Arthur said. "Better than the alternative. Here I've been thinking you'd give me a kicking."

Berwald's expression became even more rigid, if such a thing was possible. "Why would you think that?"

"You know," Arthur gestured towards Berwald's person in general. When that had no effect on him, Arthur chuckled nervously, "Come off it. If you were any graver, there'd be dates carved into you. Surely you know the affect you have on people?"

Apparently he didn't.

People as large as Berwald really shouldn't be able to shrink in on themselves so much or practically summon clouds of gloom with their sulking. Arthur felt as though he'd stepped on a puppy's tail. Or maybe a bear. A bear puppy.

"It's—It's not so bad! Honest!" Arthur attempted to console his dejected companion. Attempted. "We can't help the way we look, not that you look scary! Just a bit . . . unapproachable, but you've turned out to be a nice fellow so that's neither here nor there!"

"Is this why babies cry around me?" Berwald asked to no one in particular.

Arthur, unaccustomed to dealing with the existential crises of vikings, gave up and changed the subject. "You know, this cake is simply brilliant."

"It's my grandmother's recipe." Berwald sounded absolutely lifeless, but this was a start.

Arthur smiled. "That's wonderful. Do let her know it's delicious."

"Thanks, but she's dead."

Arthur wondered if it would be considered a social faux pas to stab his eye with a fork.

Upon leaving Berwald's house, Arthur took a quick detour to pick up the stool he'd left by Francis's window. He ignored the open window completely. Let Francis think of it what he will. Arthur was too mentally drained to care.

"And to think, he actually thought I was interested in Francis," Arthur scoffed as he went inside through the kitchen. He pulled his shoes off and, hearing the questioning meow of Jasper's approach, directed his words towards his cat. "Can you believe that? Who'd want to kiss that ugly, bearded face of his, much less date him? Berwald's a nice bloke, but he's mental if he thought I'd want to be with him."

Despite Arthur putting his foot in his mouth there at the end, their original conversation could not be purged from his mind. It made him shake his head as much as it caused him to snicker. Berwald probably expected Arthur and Francis to come together like in some romantic comedy and get married by the end.

An unwarranted image of Francis blushing in a wedding gown made Arthur want to punch himself.

"Why did you think that? Why did you have to go think that?" Arthur groaned to himself. He picked Jasper up, hoping for a distraction, and went to lie on the living room couch. The feline settled lazily on Arthur's stomach and chest while sniffing at its master's hand for scratchies.

"You know he wore a dress to school back in secondary?" Arthur told the cat.

Jasper stared back blandly, eyes blinking slowly in that way that said, "Why are you telling me this?"

"I know you don't care, but I had to put up with that. He looked like a fool, but all the girls loved him anyway. If I had tried that, I'd have been pummeled."

"Mew."

"You're right, I couldn't pull it off anyway. Not my style and all," Arthur sighed, letting his fingers rub through Jasper's coat.

As suddenly as the image of Francis in a dress had come to him, a new one replaced it, only this time with a different blue-eyed blond. One with sleek glasses and an unabashed grin and a broad chest and a rowdy laugh that shouldn't be as pleasant as it was.

Arthur blinked, realizing that he was imagining Alfred in a white, strapless wedding dress. With a bouquet and everything.

He covered his eyes, cheeks burning. "Get ahold of yourself old boy. You've only spoken to him once."

Yet that singular conversation had been more fulfilling than most of the interactions he'd had in the past year. At the time, Arthur had been too nervous and hopeful to truly think about where their conversation had led them last night. Only after he'd shut his computer off and went to bed did Arthur lie awake, staring at the ceiling, and ponder how things had become so . . . personal between them. Arthur could excuse Alfred, chalk up his stream of chatter to being charismatic. For all Arthur knew, Alfred was the type to talk about his life to new people. Arthur didn't kid himself as being so special for Alfred to reveal those things. Then again, the lad could have been overwhelmed with anxiousness.

Arthur smiled absently as he remembered how incredibly meek Alfred could be, unlike what he'd seen in his videos prior. From the earnest, little smiles he'd given when throwing out random compliments, to his fervent passion for the games and people he played for, it consistently surprised Arthur. Alfred's usual bravado made plenty of reappearances; however, Arthur suspected the American to be a different person when not recording and faced with only one other person instead of thousands.

"He can be a handful, but he's . . . It's curious," Arthur said to himself, trying to articulate what his thoughts were getting at.

Alfred had a lot going on for him that drew Arthur's interest, but that still didn't explain why Arthur had been so candid with him last night. Whatever Alfred's motives had been, they were his own. Arthur just wasn't the type of person to get on so well with someone that quickly. He'd witnessed far too many falling outs, people who'd toss away years of memories over petty reasons, and that left you at the mercy of someone else's whims, because you allowed them to know you. If they knew you, really knew you, then they knew the best places to stab, because you showed them.

You can't get hurt as much if you hide the pieces of your heart, and that's the philosophy Arthur tended to put into practice. There were many words to describe people who close themselves off like that. Jaded, cynical, paranoid, but his personal favorite was guarded. Guarded made sense. He didn't want to leave himself vulnerable. In the scheme of things, Arthur hadn't revealed too much about himself, nothing dangerous so far. As it was, he worried. He didn't like the idea that he could easily forget himself and let something slip, which was a very real possibility if he and Alfred became friends. Alfred had spoken as if this would become a somewhat regular thing, and Arthur was afraid he might like that.

"I bet that git isn't overthinking things nearly this much," he said, tone weary. "I probably didn't make that much of an impression on him anyway."

You've got a nice voice.

Thanks Arthur. You're really cool, ya know that?

If it's about you, I'm sure it's awesome.

Arthur blew out a breath and stubbornly ignored the blooming warmth in his chest.

And thus ends the small Berwald arc. Apparently it's canon that Sweden is unaware of his intimidating expression. Poor babe. Someone throw a Tino at this man. Give him the love he deserves. SuFin for life yo.

Moving on. Someone in the reviews gave an interesting critique about Arthur and Alfred's first skype session together. They said it was surprising how personal they were when conversing, and I do agree, enough to where I included Arthur's own analysis about it. After I wrote that, I realized that they do have their reasons. For Alfred, he is naturally personable, and in turn he has a way of warming up to people and getting them to open up, and that did affect Arthur. And then both of them were pretty nervous, and people are more prone to word vomit during those times. Finally, at the end of it all, both of them have watched a number of videos made by the other, allowing them to get a feel for the other, so it wasn't exactly the same as talking to a stranger. I could have worked more on the pacing, but as it is, I'll just try to be more mindful with the rest.

I hope you liked the food for thought. As a reward for making it this far, have a bonus scene with our favorite set of twins!

Matthew exited his bedroom to find his brother on the living room couch shoveling gobs of popcorn into his mouth and watching TV. You know, the usual morning.

For a minute, Matthew stood by the couch arm. He'd been getting ready to leave for his part-time campus job, but there are just some things you have to stop and stare at.

"Why are you watching a bridal gown show?" Matthew asked. "And why are you crying about it?"

Alfred wiped at his teary eyes with buttery fingers. "Dude, Sierra's finally marrying the love of her life, and she found the perfect dress, but her grandmother doesn't approve, and if her grandmother doesn't approve, then she won't foot the bill for it, and Sierra has to have that one, because she looks beautiful in it and it's her big day, and Grandma's being a dick. Why Grandma, why?"

Okay, the usual unusual morning when living with someone like Alfred.

"Alfred . . . how long have you been watching this show?"

"Couple hours now. Why? You should watch it with me."

"Sorry, but I have work," Matthew apologized, not sorry at all. He ducked into the kitchen to grab a bowl of cereal. As he prepared the dish, he talked with his brother. "I thought you were doing a recording session with the cat guy today."

"You mean Arthur. And yeah, but that's later today. He's got work to do before that. He's some big fancy editor, ya know. Isn't that awesome?"

"Yes, stable jobs are awesome," Matthew agreed.

Alfred had told him all about Arthur yesterday, unable to contain his enthusiasm. Matthew never had the heart to turn Alfred away during those moments of ranting excitement, not even when he had studying or whatnot to do. It was nice, seeing his brother so happy. It didn't mean he couldn't tease him though.

Matthew sat at their small kitchen table, still in view of Alfred thanks of the open floor plan. Before digging into his breakfast, he said, "I wonder what he'd think, seeing you get so invested in a show like this."

Alfred stuck his tongue out. "He'd think it's cool. Maybe. It'd be really cool if I could hang out with him and watch shows. Why does there have to be a freaking ocean between us?"

"God put it there, just to spite you."

"Thanks big guy," Alfred said towards the ceiling. "Hey, do you think there are McDonalds in England?"

Used to Alfred's random questions, Matthew shrugged. "Pretty sure there's a McDonalds in almost every country."

"That'd be hella sad if there wasn't. Imagine if Arthur had never eaten there and he came here and I had to show him the ways of the burger."

"You've obviously put far too much thought into this."

"And they even have tea at McDonalds! He's British, so he'd like tea."

"Except British people drink tea in a different way than we do over here."

Alfred stared at his twin, head tilted and eyes large and innocent. "Like . . . not with their mouths?"

Matthew choked on his cereal.

A cry of "BAKAAA!" is heard in the distance.

Lol, thanks for all the support guys. Next chapter should include the highly anticipated collab. Stay tuned next week! Or next month. Idk, I need to find a job.