Author Note: This chapter is short. It's also the point where our story /really/ begins!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. I just play around with it.

Chapter 4

"Like, welcome to another pinkalicious episode of In the Pink Room with Feliks!"

Feliks—the self-proclaimed guru of celebrity talk shows—was a cross-dressing blonde haired Polish male that harbored an unhealthy obsession with pink, judging by both his attempts at getting pinkalicious introduced into mainstream vocabulary and the bright shades of fuchsia decorating his entire set. He was well-known for strutting down a catwalk built into his set, sashaying all the way in heels higher than most supermodels were probably comfortable with wearing and designer dresses. Sometimes he would wear fashionable pantsuits. But rarely did Feliks—except for the one time he had admitted on live television that he was in a relationship with another man—wear male clothing on television. He was sure things were different when Feliks was home with Toris, his long-time Lithuanian partner, as well as the executive producer of his show.

Arthur had known Feliks before his years on television.

In fact, he had known Feliks back when the two were struggling college students trying to work and make top grades—Arthur barely making it through his economics classes and tutorials, and Feliks trying to fit in with the media and communications crowd. They had been roommates, bonding over the poor subsidized food in the cafeteria and the collective experience of little sleep, too much caffeine, and not enough alcohol.

(And that one unfortunate time when Feliks had found a stray pony and brought it into their dorm just when Arthur had brought a girl to stay the night.)

Little had changed since then, other than his friend's clothes. Feliks, in Arthur's opinion, was still a badass: only now when he tried to kick someone in the face, he was also flashing them an eyeful of fancy, frilly panties. Alas, there he was, about to go on live television for Feliks' show, and pretend that they didn't know each other—pretend that all the questions had not been pre-screened backstage when Feliks had stopped by the make-up room to gossip with Arthur over new glorified position as the target of the Kissing Thief (and maybe, just maybe a little bit about Arthur's 'like, totally hot assistant—oh my gosh, you need to tap that!' and his impromptu hospital visit.)

"You are all, like, totally not going to be disappointed by the fabulous show we have for all of you today! First, on Stars with Feliks, your favorite stars from The Mad and the Wreckless! Woohoo! Later, how to properly cut your shirt into looking fabulous for the summer months, AND we'll even go into the kitchen with—Arthur Kirkland and Feliciano Vargas!" He paused, rolling his eyes, "oh, right, and Francis Bonnefoy…"

Loud claps drowned out whatever sound his scowl was making.

"So then! Let's welcome Arthur Kirkland! Feliciano Vargas! Elizabeta Héderváry! Francis Bonnefoy! The stars from the Mad and the Wreckless everyone!"

Arthur was pushed into the shuffle, walking beside the other stars of the show, and attempting to look sheepish as he was forced to sit next to the annoying French frog. But he kept his cool, crossing one leg over the other and giving a gentlemanly nod in acknowledgement of the many other people now watching the set. Technically, nothing was off-limits, but Arthur knew better. He had the upper-hand, he—

"—Arthur Kirkland, who plays the part of a bisexual male attempting to make a relationship work with the lovely Elizabeta, all while running away from the demons of his past. And, oh my gosh, like it's getting so juicy! The plot-line has so, so, so much going on, makes my head-spin! I was just telling Toris the other day how I'm going through withdrawal. When are the new episodes coming out?"

"Well," Arthur took the question, "now that Feliciano has returned to the set, very soon. Hope—" he stopped, feeling both the way in which a pervy French hand began to squeeze his thigh and hearing the loud whistles and claps of the girls in the audience. His smile grew tense, and he half-lidded his eyes, grabbing Francis' hand and squeezing it so hard that next to him, he could feel the French man beginning to twist in pain. "—fully we won't disappoint."

"Oh, Arthur," Feliks chuckled, eyes fixed on the way in which Arthur released Francis' hand only to then push the limp, probably broken body part away, "you never disappoint. Some spoilers then? What can we expect?"

"Lots of delicious man-on-man action!" Liz declared, nodding confidently, "the Arthur-Francis drama has a while to go still, and we're also bringing in another major character that might just sweep Arthur off his feet—cough—much like a certain American—cough—a Portuguese male. And we can't give more details, but yeah!"

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur chuckled, feeling as if his head was already beginning to pound. "What were you trying to imply there, Lizzie?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing, just that I think we're all curious to know about your assistant," she leaned forward a bit, preening at him with her long eyelashes. Her green-eyes flashed with curiosity. And Arthur was afraid. Really afraid.

"Ah, yes, my… my assistant," Arthur cringed, though Feliks clapped. And then he knew he'd been set-up.

"That's right," Feliks took over, "if you have not been keeping up with the news, like shame on you, viewer because our stud Arthur totally had a super eventful night at the hospital with his sexy-hot assistant Alfred F. Jones. What's the update, Arthur? We're all, like, dying to know."

"Ah, l'amour!" Francis cooed, shifting on his seat. The smirk on his face, though, let Arthur know that he was well-aware of the developments from the night before, and would likely bring it up as much as possible to embarrass him. Maybe even make him look bad with Priya.

"Ve~! Alfred's in the hospital?" Feliciano asked softly, turning to Liz, who simply petted his head, nodding. "Is Alfred going to die? Ve, ve, Arthur, Arthur, you wouldn't let anything bad happen to Alfred, right?"

Arthur twitched, about to make a rash comment when he looked up and saw Birdie crawling on the ground near the camera man, holding up her clipboard as high as she could: 'Remember: Popularity!' – and with that, Arthur knew what he had to do. With a soft sigh, he looked down at his hands before putting on a wistful face, and staring straight at the camera.

"My assistant Alfred F. Jones suffered from a concussion last night and had to be rushed to the hospital, where I stayed with him for a couple of hours. He's a big fan of the show, Feliks, and I am sure he is devastated that he's missed coming to see the set. He always comments about how interesting your pink pony makes theshow. So," he smiled, tipping his head, "Alfred, if you're watching, everyone in team Kirkland miss you lots and we expect a full-recovery soon. Get well soon, lad."

(So maybe that was a lie. So maybe Alfred always made fun of the show, especially the pink pony that Feliks claimed had psychic powers. And maybe it was best Alfred had not joined Arthur this once… maybe things did happen for a reason.)

Elizabeta sniffled, "t—that was so beautiful!"

"Arthur really cares for Alfred, ve?"

"Ah, l'amour!"

"THAT WAS ALL COMPLETELY PLATONIC, YOU GITS!"

"So, then," Feliks wriggled his eyebrows, leaning forward as he interrupted the Brit's outburst, "what were you doing in his apartment last night?"

There was a wave of gossipy whispers that blanketed over the audience.

Arthur faltered, stuttering.

"Oh-la-la! About ze time! I waz concerned for you, mon cher, always walkin' 'round as if you had ze stick up your derrière! Ah, l'amour!"

"NO!" Arthur cleared his throat, "no, I mean, it's like this, so, we had dinner and—"

"So, you two went out on a date?" Elizabeta gripped Arthur's arm, "And you didn't tell me?"

"No, no, I was supposed to go out with Priya, but Alfred had my cell phone and she canceled so he met me at the restaurant so I wouldn't think I'd been stood up. Quite nice of the lad, really, but all was purely platonic."

The audience 'aww'ed,' and Arthur's cheek flushed a bright pink.

"Ve~ then why did Arthur go home with Alfie?"

"Sounds like you both really care about each other," Feliks commented, chuckling into his hand, "but you're, like, totes denying you didn't tap that?"

"W—what? Me? Al—I'd never! I'm an absolute gentleman," Arthur coughed into his hand, "I don't, I mean, the opportunity never presented itself; no, I'm wording that incorrectly, I mean to say that it was never an option."

"So if it had been…?" Elizabeta pressed the question, hands twitching with excitement.

"I mean to say that it was never an option in the first place," Arthur tried to curls himself into a ball in his seat. "C—Can we please talk about something else? I'm sure my assistant must be mortified at this moment watching this, probably still in the hospital."

"Arthur cares so very much for cher Amerique," Francis added in, trying not to burst out laughing.

"Oh, look at that!" Feliks pointed straight at the camera, "Time for a quick commercial break, but when we return, more pinkalicious gossip with the stars from the Mad and the Reckless! Snaps everyone!"

Arthur simply hid his face between his palms, groaning. So much for damage control.

After the show…

Birdie pushed through the crowd of fans and camera man trying to snap a few shots of Arthur back-stage. He simply tried to remain calm, hiding his face deeper into the lapels of his coat until he could barely make out the flash of any cameras. The two of them began to make their way through the thicket of people.

"Hey boss!"

Arthur looked up immediately, "Alfred?"

Alfred nodded, giving his boss a lop-sided, happy grin, standing in front of him in a nice, pressed black suit. His hair was slicked back, much like the night before, and he had even shined a black pair of loafers, probably for comfort, but a definite improvement from the usual sneakers he used to wear with everything. Arthur was truly surprised—he had thought Alfred would still be back in the hospital, but no, he was right there, in front of him, giving him a sheepish little smile as he held his work binder in one arm, his other arm in a cast. If Arthur had admitted the previous night that Alfred could clean up well, right now he could admit that he felt a certain level of warmth graze over his cheeks, probably his ego politely reminding him that maybe Feliks was right and Alfred was hot. And very much into him. Oh, yes, into him enough to have a poster of him half-clothed on his wall.

Did Alfred talk to the poster? Do things while staring at it late at night—what was he thinking?

"W—what happened to your arm?" Arthur gulped, feeling as Birdie began to push him forward. Alfred simply followed, walking slowly next to Arthur. "Your head's alright, yes?"

"Yeah, my head's fine, boss! Just, seems like when they were carrying me out'a the house or something, I think paramedics might have let my arm bump against a wall—hard."

Arthur looked away, feeling guilty. "Ah, that was probably my fault. I carried you onto a taxi. You were irresponsive, and the paramedics were taking so long. I just figured you'd be lighter than you looked, but I suppose I was mistaken."

"No biggie. Anyway, I saw the show: that—that shout-out was nice."

Alfred's cheeks were dusted a light pink.

"Ah, I'm glad you didn't die from embarrassment. I thought I was about to, but I'm afraid that's impossible."

"Yeah, it kinda is," Alfred nodded, "so listen, boss, I know about your rule—"

"Don't mention it."

"Okay, boss. But see—"

"Please, don't mention the poster, the CDs, the movies, the coffee mug, honestly, don't mention it." Arthur cleared his throat, "I—I'm going to trust you, Alfred Jones. You're a good kid, coming here from the hospital and looking the true part of an assistant. I know you need the money, and I need a personal bartender that doesn't ask any questions, and can readjust my schedule based on the number of shots I—"

"Uh, boss…"

"Alfred. I've told you many times it is incredibly rude to interrupt."

"No, boss, look out!"

Alfred pushed Arthur back, making him fall flat on his back. The Brit winced, slowly beginning to lean on his elbows to find that his assistant was in a lip-lock with a mysterious looking stranger, dressed all in black. He blinked, barely reacting before he shuffled to his feet and pulled Alfred back. The poor dazed blonde looked like he'd been tongued into silence. And, almost immediately, the Kiss-Thief came to a simple conclusion: he had tongued the wrong man.

Arthur wasn't sure what he had gotten himself into. He'd simply meant to save his assistant from the grasps of some pervert out of thanks for his quick-thinking, but now that he was facing the Kiss-Thief, he wasn't sure what to do other than gulp internally and curl his hand into fist, almost ready to punch the black-clad figure if he so much as he flinched, much less lurched at him.

Cameras continued to flash, and he could hear, tiny voices, squeaky high, rough and tactless, calling into phones, calling for a hot-of-the-press release or an instant e-mail update or a tweet: 'Arthur Kirkland's lover and assistant just saved him from the Kiss Thief!' and 'Kirkland's reaction was immediate – punching the Kiss Thief in the face!' or 'Kiss Thief to sue Kirkland for physical violence…'

Only then did Arthur feel a palm cradle his fist and he looked next to him to find Alfred looking very serious, pushing his fist down.

He had punched the Kiss Thief.

Later he would see the footage, save in the comfort of Alfred's apartment again, with Birdie guarding the door from the paparazzi, waiting for Gilbert to show up.

He would see himself fall to the ground, Alfred being pulled forward into a kiss by the Kiss-Thief…

(Why did the kiss look odd? It looked, from a certain angle, like a closed-mouth kiss, barely lips touching, maybe even not touching at all. But maybe Arthur was jolted, maybe he didn't want to think about it anymore, think about his poor assistant getting mauled into a kiss, his back arching, toes curling. Alfred had looked so jolted, almost catatonic. He was almost tempted to focus only on the way the Kiss Thief's lips brushed over Alfred's on the screen, but he didn't. He simply sat on the sofa, hands curling into fists.)

And then, then what he saw he didn't recognize. He had pulled Alfred back, curled his hand into a fist, and hit the Kiss Thief right on the chin. The punch hadn't been enough to make the Kiss Thief pass out, but it had been enough to make him scatter away into the crowd, running from the scene.

No one had caught the Kiss Thief in their shock that Arthur Kirkland—gentleman and playboy—had punched anyone, especially for his assistant, now being dubbed his lover.

"Here boss," Alfred handed him a hot cup of tea, sitting next to him again.

Arthur looked at the mug, blinking in surprise when he saw his face smiling up at him.

Alfred flushed pink, "they came in a set of four. And I haven't had time to do the dishes…"

"It's fine," Arthur took a short sip from the mug, "needs a bit of milk, but it's fine."

"Hmm," Alfred hummed, turning his attention back to the television. "So, uh, boss?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"Thanks. You know, for standing up for me. I didn't expect that."

Arthur smirked, "yes, well, don't get used to it." He quickly turned somber, "I'm sorry that happened to you, lad. You shouldn't have jumped in front of me."

"Oh, it wasn't too bad," Alfred shrugged, "he's a pretty good kisser, actually, so it wasn't, you know, that bad."

Birdie stared at them, smiling into her hand. "Alright, gentleman, I think that's enough television for now. Perhaps, though, we should tune in to the Kiss-Thief's website?"

"I don't know if that's appropriate right now," Arthur replied, hands shaking. "Alfred's probably still in shock."

Alfred shrugged, grabbing for his laptop. "Gotta do it eventually right? Better now than later, I say."

Arthur gulped, letting out a shaky breathe when he saw the video. Birdie blinked. Alfred simply growled, almost tempted to x out of the website.

Kiss-Thief Video #11: Hit me, baby, one more time!

"So you think you're one smooth operator, huh, sexy brows? Didn't know you were taken. How about we call 2 rounds of 3? – This is far from over.

Oh, and, tell your little assistant that his lips taste like hamburger. Not even Ronald McDonald kisses like that. Nasty!"

"T—That… agalmatophiliac! He's molested Ronald McDonald! I can't forgive him!"

"Alfred, that's the least of our problems here!"

Alfred paused, "our problems?"

"Well, you're not just going to let him kiss me, are you?—I saved you!"

"After I saved you, boss, we're totally even."

Arthur's eyes widened, "A—Alfred…"

Alfred smirked, winking, "just kidding boss. I'll always be your hero," and with that, he let his arm fall over the other's shoulders, bringing him close to his body.

Arthur frowned, pouting as he tried to elbow his assistant away, "..you'?"

"Uh," Alfred laughed nervously, releasing his boss. "Sorry. Got a little excited there."