Oh my gosh I am so sorry about how long it took for me to get this out here. And I also apologize for how awful it is, I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing, but it's easier said than done.

Thank you to all those who reviewed this story your reviews mean the world to me omfg

Guest: "What if someone's blind!?" Oh my gosh, thank you so much for that question. I thought long and hard about that one. So those who are blind have senses that are ultimately more heightened. They can hear better, for example. So I like to think that in this universe they've developed their own way to recognize their soul mate, such as a more musical lilt to their voice or a smell that is literally the best thing on this entire planet ever. Does that answer your question? They won't ever see, I don't imagine they'd want to, there's the fear of the unknown. But they will recognize who is meant for them, as that person will recognize them.

stardustdestiny3: "Their relationship needs some work." I know right? That was my game plan. They're in it right now because they believe they have to be, at least by society's standards. They'll gradually get to that point where they love each other for each other, I promise. It'll just take a while.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hetalia franchise.

Losing Progress

"Honest differences are often a healthy sign of progress."

―Mahatma Ghandi

Arthur practically threw Alfred off of him when he heard the bottle clink against the wooden floor. Al's disgruntled exclamation barely penetrated Arthur's subconscious as he stooped to the floor, ducking his head to find the small bottle under the bed.

Al walked up behind Arthur from where the poor Brit was scrambling for the mysterious item, his quizzical blue eyes watching the light gray hair of his soul mate's head. "Whatcha looking for?" he asked him, nose crinkling at the huff that Arthur gave in response.

"None of your business," grumbled Arthur, sitting back on his heels with the tiny bottle perched carefully between thumb and pointer finger. He could feel the discontent radiating off of his American counterpart, but he figured he'd let Alfred speak up about it if he wanted to.

"Arthur," said Alfred carefully, sitting on the edge of the bed just to the right of where Arthur was crouching. "I think it is my business. We're soul mates, you can't be secretive forever," his words took on the tone of a petulant five year old, but they had value all the same.

Arthur watched the blue eyed man for a second before sighing and shifting so that he was sitting next to Alfred on the bed. "Right…" he trailed off, turning the bottle with its clear liquid in the light. "Well, Alfred, when I said that I worked in the government, I might have left out some, ah, choice pieces of information."

He felt Alfred shift uncomfortably next to him, and his immediate reaction was to reach out and squeeze the other man's upper thigh.

"I work in the secret services of the British government, you see, and those various materials you helped me to sneak out of your house today? Well, some of them remain still in this bag. And others of them, well, have been passed appropriately on to the destination I was supposed to go to yesterday."

Alfred remained silent, which was only slightly disconcerting for Arthur. He was too scared to look at Al's facial expression, not wanting to see some amount of betrayal in those eyes or hanging off of those familiar lips.

"Al?" he asked carefully, surreptitiously slipping the bottle back into his combat boot.

"Why… Why didn't you tell me earlier?" asked Al, his voice trembling slightly. Arthur was alarmed, to say the least

"Excuse me? I met you yesterday! The question is why I'm telling you this right now!" Art responded caustically, his green eyes turning to glare at the unreasonable American.

Alfred winced and shrunk back. "Yeah, yeah, you gotta point, whatever," he grumbled, shifting his eyes off to the opposite corner of the room from where Arthur was sitting.

Arthur swore. "Al, come on, I was going to tell you eventually. This just… Pressed the issue. You don't- you don't think any less of me because of this, do you?" He was embarrassed to admit that Al's opinion of him actually mattered but it did. Why on Earth he cared, he couldn't for the life of him say, but he did.

When Alfred's arms wrapped around him he almost collapsed from relief. The American had stood up and maneuvered himself between Arthur's knees, his arms wrapping around the Englishman's shoulders and tugging Art's face into his chest. While Arthur didn't entirely detest the gesture he couldn't honestly say that he wanted to suffocate in Al's pectorals.

Carefully, Arthur pushed the overemotional high school graduate away from him. Alfred still pushed his fingers through Arthur's carefully mussed hair, though, which irked him still, but he did nothing about it this time.

"Thank you for telling me," said Al, momentarily surprising his soul mate. A gentle smile fell on Arthur's lips as a result of Alfred's backing down. His hands reached out to settle on the American's hips, massaging a gentle circle around the hip bones.

"Anything for you, Alfred," he said, surprised by how much of that was actually true. As his eyes slipped up to Al's face, a flash of some bright, startling color peeled into his eyesight before disappearing. His eyes shot wide at the result, staring at Alfred to see if he'd noticed anything, but it appeared he hadn't.

"So what do we want for lunch?" Al asked, pulling away from Arthur's steady grip and removing his fingers from Art's hair. His stomach grumbled lowly, letting the Brit know that it was definitely time to get some food in his soul mate.

"Hm… shall we go check your cupboards?" asked Arthur teasingly, standing with Alfred's assistance and making his way out of the room. Francis and Matthew, thank goodness, had moved to their bedroom, leaving the main living area and attached kitchen open for perusal by the other two occupants of the apartment.

Arthur cracked open one of the cupboards and peered inside, searching for what was available in them. What he found was a box of Kraft Mac & Cheese. Cocking his head, rather catlike, at the food, he selected it and placed it on the counter, wrinkling his nose at the illustration on the box. He'd heard of just how orange that mac & cheese was from colleagues.

He'd grown up in a rather affluent household and had never had the misfortune of being exposed to such terrible food. He had yet to decide if that was a fact he regretted or not.

Alfred came up behind him and laughed. "My favorite!" he chirped, swiping the box from the counter and taking out a pot. Pouring some water inside, he set that on the stove to boil, his attention turning to the lost Brit.

"What did you do today anyway…?" he asked carefully, his eyes fixed on his soul mate's bright green eyes. Arthur's eyes were strangely arresting. He didn't want to let go of their shared gaze, and he didn't plan to.

"I visited a colleague to solve a mystery," was Arthur's abstract answer. Alfred huffed at the lack of information in that but said nothing more at the look of resignation on Art's face. It was clear that something was weighing on the Brit. Al resolved to take Arthur's mind off of whatever the issue was, at least temporarily.

"Tell me about yourself, Artie," he said, pulling out a chair at the bar for Arthur to take a seat. He rested his chin on his bridged hands, inquisitive blue eyes peering happily at their green counterparts.

Arthur wrinkled his nose at the nickname, but felt a secret thrill at such a thing. He'd never really been called Artie before, except by his mother, in her more affectionate moments. "What exactly would you like to know?" he asked, grudgingly taking the preferred chair. Alfred stood across from him, his back to the stove and body turned towards Arthur's.

Alfred paused a moment. "Where did you grow up?" he asked eventually, knowing that it was most likely England, but the question was where in England.

"I grew up in Bray, about 40 kilometers outside of London," he supplied. It was a rich village, noteworthy in its wealthy occupants.

"What were your parents like?" was Alfred's next question after he took the time to absorb where exactly Arthur had experienced his childhood.

"Ah, my parents," murmured Art, smiling half-heartedly. "Mother and father weren't around often. They had galas and balls to attend, society to keep apace with. But mother would stop by every once in a while. She was nice, she always smelled like roses. She'd call me Artie sometimes, though less so as I grew into secondary education, or what you view as high school. Father, now he I never saw. I believe he was there for my sixteenth birthday with a brand new Ferrari, but that was the full summation of his involvement in my life." Arthur surprised himself by how much he spilled out to Alfred, but it felt okay. It felt like he could trust this man with all his secrets. And hopefully his gut instinct was right on this one, or he'd just put his family and himself in a jeopardous situation.

Alfred's own eyes were soft, that familiar downy blanket blue that made Arthur want to curl up under his gaze and bask in their comfort. "I'm sorry Artie," was all he said after that, before returning his attention to the mac & cheese fiasco that Arthur had picked out for their afternoon meal.

"What got you interested in secret services?" asked Alfred from where he stood by the stove, his back now to Arthur.

"I wanted to do something with my life, more than just going through secondary education and then hiking off to University. I wanted something wild, something dangerous. And I'll be damned if I didn't find it. I've found my place, Alfred, and it feels fantastic to know my missions and to know my goals; to know what I've got to do. I like feeling relied upon." He flushed slightly at his words, knowing how corny they must sound.

Alfred turned to throw a beaming smile Art's way. "I'm so happy for you, Artie. I hope I can find my place too, one of these days." He finished with the mac and cheese and dished two heaping spoonfuls into two separate bowls, sliding one in front of Arthur. "Now eat up on America's finest," said Al with a wink before digging into his bowl.

Arthur stared hesitantly at the mess of noodles and cheese. The cheese was a bright, obnoxious color. But it did smell pretty damn good. Taking up the spoon Al slid his way, he took a tentative taste of the noodles, making a moan of satisfaction at the combination of noodle and melted cheese. It was good, despite how obviously full of preservatives it was.

Then he paused. The cheese was a color. Peering at the bowl of food, his eyes shot wide. "Holy shite!" he yelled out, just saving himself from falling off of the chair. Alfred sent him a quizzical look before resuming his eating. He'd figured out a while ago to not question Arthur's dramatic actions.

Peering, owl-eyed, at the food, Arthur reached hesitantly forward to put some more in his mouth. Oh, how that orange tasted. It was delicious and amazing and it tasetd like sweet victory. Maybe things with Alfred wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Alfred," he spoke up, watching his soul mate from where the man had resumed his previously vacated seat. "There is one thing I need to speak with you about… The mission I'm currently embarking on, well, it's rather dangerous. It's extremely dangerous. And you, as my soul mate, are well, a bit of a liability, to put it bluntly. But," he said, holding a finger up to hold off Alfred's disgruntled response, "But, you're not a liability I want to lose. I… I care about you Al." He winced, nicknames not really the norm for him, but he felt that Alfred would appreciate it all the same. "We need to train you."

Alfred swallowed down his gulp of mac and cheese. "Um, excuse me, train me in what now, Mr. Secret Agent?" snapped out Alfred, immediately on the defensive.

"Calm down, Alfred, honestly! I just want to make sure that you are prepared to defend yourself in case we encounter someone or something rather nasty…" Arthru trailed off, letting Alfred's imagination do the rest of the work for him.

Alfred made no more complaints after that.

"I'd like to train you, but I actually think… I think that you should try and find a way to involve yourself in the secret services you have here in America, such as the CIA or FBI. We need you to have government backing behind you, for ultimate protection. And the British government will have no interest in an American immigrant, as much as it pains me to say it." He left off, watching Alfred's face for any kind of a reaction he could analyze. He was good at reading faces, and Alfred's eyes were full of emotion and expression.

"Alright, sounds cool to me, bro," said Al, seeming to brush off the bombshell with ease. That threw Arthur for a major loop.

"I-uh what?" he asked, ultimately confused.

"Well, I mean, dude, I want to stay alive. And I understand that your job means things are gonna get scary. I'm okay with this, and I've always kind of wanted to be a part of the secret services anyway, so this will be totally cool."

Arthur sighed. He'd have to remind Alfred of what exactly the Secret Services meant. "Al… It means we won't be able to see each other for a couple of years.

This had the American stopping in his tracks. "Why?" he demanded, his eyes rapidly hardening into that familiar shell of stubbornness. How was it that Arthur had barely known the lad a day and already he could pick up on Al's idiosyncrasies.

"You'll have to be trained, obviously," snorted Arthur, "assuming you make it past their entrance exams in the first place. And I can't just drop everything to follow you around like some sick puppy dog, Alfred. I have my own work to do."

Alfred shrunk back, hurt and anger shimmering in his baby blues. "Well fuck you too, Arthur," he snapped, scowling in the Brit's direction. "Fine. And just as I thought we could actually get along. Fucking whatever. I'll go look into it, I'll see what I can do to make your life easier. Don't worry about mine, it's not like a relationship goes both ways or anything!" he hissed and slammed his empty bowl rather harshly down in the sink before stalking off to his room.

Arthur watched him go and sighed, turning back to his mac & cheese. His heart fell momentarily at the sight of the now gray noodles. It appeared he'd lost the gift he'd been given. He had to learn to be more sympathetic, to understand Al's emotions more. Lord knew he'd grown too used to being removed from everything. Maybe Alfred was good for him after all.

And then he heard Francis's familiarly annoying French accent peeling around the corner, the usual obnoxious honhonhon. The twat had no doubt been listening to the entire argument. Arthur was too absorbed in Alfred to notice.

And that's the end of the third chapter.

If you have anything to note, such as mistakes or inconsistencies, or even questions, please write them up in a review or PM me! I'm open to any and all.