Chapter 3: Trouble in Paradise

Barely a week had passed before Arthur heard from Alfred, again. He received the letter while partaking in his morning tea and reading a novel. All that was written on the note were eight words:

Central Park. 9 o' clock.

I'll be waiting.

Whether or not the two countries were lovers was still uncertain. However, it was obvious that both of them had madly fallen for each other. They couldn't just live together, though, could they? After all, they had their countries to look out for.

Arthur was already at Central Park by eight-thirty. Alfred was there, as well. When they saw each other, Arthur blushed and looked down out his shoes, hoping nobody around them would think him strange. Alfred, on the other hand, cockily stepped toward him and took his hand; and, just like that, they started walking.

"Alfred, where are we going?" the Brit asked.

The American smiled at him. "Sight-seeing," he said.

Alfred first showed Arthur how to find his way through New York City, which he said was crucial if you didn't want to get caught in the worst parts of town. He then showed him important landmarks, including the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty, and, in turn, how Americanized the city had become since the Brit had last been here.

When they had both seen enough of NYC, Alfred informed Arthur, "I've booked us a room at a four-star. I think you'll like it."

This information would've made the Englishman suddenly break out in sweat if the air wasn't so chilly.

The hotel really was nice, in formal American style. Fountains sprayed in fabulous patterns and light-works, and the hotel patio was lit up by lights hanging from a tall overhang. The place was actually fairly decent.

Alfred checked them in and led them to their room. Strangely enough, a couple bags of luggage had already been brought to the room. Alfred seemed to have been awfully prepared for this.

"Didn't the gentleman at the front desk say there was a spa of some sort, here?" Arthur asked after searching through the contents of the luggage, "Because that's where I'm going."

Turning away from Alfred, the Brit prepared to depart, removing this coat and shirt and pulling on a white, linen robe. He was still too proud (and too timid) to remove his trousers in front of the younger country. He could sense the American watching him as he left, but, somehow, he knew he wouldn't follow.

The spa baths were separate from each other—each in their own Japanese-style room. Arthur was grateful for the solitude. He needed to be alone, right now. It would help him think.

The water was burning-hot, at first, but it didn't take long for the Brit's nerves to adjust. Soon, he was in the water up to his chin.

Why did Alfred bring him here? He wondered. Was he hoping for some kind of romantic interlude? Arthur wasn't sure. He didn't even know what kind of love this was. They were countries, after all. Getting caught up in a love affair was the last thing either of them needed. Of course, it was too late to remind himself of that.

There was another matter at hand: What would Arthur do when he got back to the hotel room? Maybe he'd be able to weasel his way out of any romance, tonight—not that it didn't sound appeasing, just that he wasn't sure he could afford to be swept away.

After a long while, Arthur stepped out of the bath, pulling his robe around himself, taking his clothes, and heading back toward the room. He would have to take things as they came, but he would try to avoid romance, and that was all that mattered.

When he returned to the room, the sound of spraying water told Arthur that the American was in the shower. Taking advantage of the privacy, he dug through the suitcase prepared for him and pulled on an undershirt and boxers. He then buried himself under the bed covers, trying his best to gain unobtainable sleep.

Just when Arthur was somewhat less conscious, he heard a murmur in his ear: "Do I at least get a goodnight kiss?"

Arthur opened his eyes to see Alfred sitting on the other side of the bed. He didn't seem expectant or disappointed—just casual, easygoing. Arthur saw again the reason why he was so in love with the younger country: Because of his nature.

"I suppose…one kiss couldn't hurt," the Brit said, more to himself than to Alfred.

Arthur sat up as Alfred leaned in. Their lips touched—once, twice, countless times. Arthur could feel his resolve slipping as those lips planted themselves all over his face, and then his body. Then, the hands—hands that he longed to be touched by more and more. The Brit felt his clothes slip into awkward angles, and both he and the American were coated in sweat. It felt so much like a dream. Arthur never would've imagined what it would be like to be swept away by the warmth in Alfred's body. It seemed too good to be true.

The room was dark at three in the morning, with Alfred holding Arthur to his slightly moist chest. Arthur could only hear the sounds of Alfred's deep breathing and his heartbeat. He could only feel the humid heat enwrapping his body. A sense of security set the Brit's mind at peace. Alfred was always going to be there for him. He would still hold him like this and make him feel this way. After all: He was the hero.

"Hey, Arthur," Alfred said that morning over breakfast. "Do you remember what you wanted to ask me at the meeting before last?"

Arthur blinked. He couldn't recall what he'd wanted to ask. He searched his mind, trying to remember that meeting. It was unusually fuzzy, and that made him remember: He'd gone to Francis's party, that night, but what had he wanted to ask Alfred?

"I recall the day, but…when exactly did I try to ask?" the Brit said, poking the fork in his hand at the potatoes on his plate.

"It was before France ran in and begged you to come to his party," Alfred replied. "Remember?"

Then, it clicked in his mind. The request was so childish, but that didn't matter very much, anymore. "I was only wondering if…if you'd like to come to my house for the evening. I suppose it's too late, now," he said, trying for a light-hearted chuckle.

"No," Alfred said, obviously not taking the request as a joke. "I think that'd be great. We can head to your place after we're done, here."

Arthur was a little surprised that the younger country had actually taken his request seriously. The American really was more considerate than he gave him credit for. Arthur couldn't help feeling…appreciated.

Alfred was willing to walk back to Arthur's house. The American seemed different during the trip—his brow heavier, his eyes less compassionate and comical. Arthur knew why. He could feel it, too. They'd both gone back to being countries in order to quickly span the distance between their two homes.

Fortunately, that didn't last very long. When they arrived at Arthur's house, Alfred's and the Brit's hearts both felt lighter. Being a country was a responsibility they had to accept, but being human was so much easier.

Arthur let them in through the front door. The house was a cozy place near the Thames River, several miles outside of London. It wasn't fancy, in the Brit's opinion, but it was still in good taste. A couple of servants and a gardener monitored the house and kept it while he was away. Arthur and Alfred were greeted with dinner, but the younger country had taken him out to eat in the city, earlier. Still, the older did ask for scones, tea, and coffee.

Arthur took a place on the loveseat while Alfred crashed on the couch, saying things like, "Well, that was fun," and, "Nice place you got, here."

Arthur grinned briefly at his praise, but something was still bothering him. Apparently, Alfred could tell, because he asked, "What's on your mind, Arthur?"

The Brit looked up, pulled away from his thoughts. "Oh, nothing. I was just wondering…we are lovers now, I presume?"

"Yeah, I guess," Alfred replied. "Why?"

"Well, don't lovers usually…live together?" Arthur said, hesitantly.

Alfred grinned, stood up, and took the space beside Arthur on the loveseat. Then, he said, "Only if you want to."

Alfred went silent after these words. Arthur sensed that the younger country was awaiting his answer. Once again, the Brit was at a loss for words, so he spoke in the only way he could: turning a shade of pink, he allowed himself to lean against the taller country's chest. The American wrapped his arm around him and said, "Alright, then."

At that moment, a servant brought in the drinks and scones. Upon seeing Alfred and Arthur, he raised an eyebrow. Arthur was ashamed later that his first instinct would've been to fling out of Alfred's arms and cry, "This isn't what it looks like!"

Fortunately, all he actually did was turn a deeper shade of red. Then, as if in response to the servant's disbelief, Alfred pulled Arthur closer. The servant set down the platter on the low table and left the room without a word.

"What did you just do?" Arthur asked, annoyance showing through in his tone.

"Just assuring your servants that we're together," Alfred said, too lightheartedly.

The Brit was stunned. "What the hell? You idiot! What on Earth makes you feel the need to assert something like that?" he cried, practically steaming.

To his surprise, Alfred didn't just shrug that off like he'd hoped he would. The American actually released the hold he had on the Brit. "What's the big deal?"

Something in the taller country's tone made Arthur regret saying anything. Slowly, he sat up and, not able to meet Alfred's inquiring gaze, said, "I just mean…we're both men, and it might be…awkward for the servants, and…it's…"

Obviously unable to say anymore, Alfred finished for him: "Embarrassing," he said emotionlessly. "Two guys being in a relationship is weird and wrong. I get it."

And, with that, Alfred stood and started toward the door, Arthur felt all the color in his cheeks drain in an instant. For half a second, he was frozen in shock. What had just happened?

Thankfully, he snapped out of it and ran toward the door, crying, "Alfred!"

The younger country didn't stop until Arthur grabbed him by the back of his coat. Still, Alfred didn't turn around as Arthur spoke: "Alfred, I don't think it's wrong in the slightest. I've just never been in this kind of relationship, before. I'm sorry. Will you please turn around, now?"

Slowly, Alfred turned around, his head lowered so his bangs covered his eyes. He took steps toward Arthur, backing the smaller country against a wall. One of his hands was placed on the wall beside Arthur's head. The other hung limply at his side.

Then, Alfred chuckled.

"Wha-what's so damn funny?" Arthur stuttered, suddenly a bit intimidated.

The limp hand at Alfred's side was raised. Its fingers were colder than usual as they ran against the skin of Arthur's neck and jaw. Alfred teased him by the collarbone, the chest and abdomen, and even the line of his trousers. A shaking feeling spread through Arthur at every stroke. He almost thought Alfred was going to sweep him away, again—right then and there, and he would've been stupid enough to allow it.

But, instead, Alfred's hand fell, again. "For someone who's so humiliated to be in a relationship with a guy, you sure do like it when I touch you," he said, stepping back and heading towards the door. Then, without looking back, the younger country stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

At the last moment, Arthur collapsed, tears steadily streaming from his eyes as he said Alfred's name over and over again, just so that, even if he died, he would never, ever forget it.