Asdfg ヾ(´A｀)ノﾟthis chapter was trying to kill me you guys, I swear! I soooo didn't want to write it either Q_Q I was this close from bashing my head into the wall over it! And, um, I have no real excuse as to why it took me so long to finish. Other than the fact that my birthday was two days ago (16 woohoo~) and I was on Tumblr too much (I'm "keaimaaao" if any of you are interested u; *cough*)…but other than that I'm just a lazy fool

And special thanks to sasorilover7 ewe;… this chapter…it was such a rushed mess before she helped. It's still a bit myeh to me, but it's the best it's going to get since there's no way I'm editing it again xD I might die! Sorry it's rushed but I'm beyond done with this story OTL

Oh, and this might come as a shock to you buuuuuut~ it'sthelastchapter! Eeep! Hard to imagine, huh, you guys? Welp, I plan on starting up another usuk/ukus fanfic soon so it's okay I guess! (more info at the bottom~)

Thank you everyone who has reviewed, liked, and favorited! You guys are so wonderful and I love all of you Q3Q

"Aren't I just another one of your characters?"

And at that, Arthur fell silent.

Chapter 21

"Alfred." The boy's name spilled out eerily soft from his lips, much softer than Arthur had anticipated it to, but the dangerous intent in his voice remained crystal clear. "How do you know about that?"

It was more than just an innocent question and the two of them knew it.

"Take a wild guess, Kirkland!" Alfred shot back, a venomous quality to his voice, his body quivering and mouth pulled back in a tight grimace. When he received no response, he simply bit out the answer. "I figured out the password, damn it! I read the entire fucking thing!" His voice cracked twice, and for the huge act he was putting on, his vulnerability still shown bright as a light. The Englishman just wanted to shatter it to pieces.

"That's an invasion of privacy." He informed the other dryly, darkened eyes darting this way and that, building up quickly with—pent up anger, was it? Or fear? Hurt? It was hard to tell.

"Did you get off writing about me, Arthur?" the American seethed, stressing his name the same way Arthur had to him. "Taking my miserable wreck of a life and manipulating it into some sappy bestseller? Oh, but no. Had to cut a couple things out there, didn't ya? A dirty prostitute doesn't make for a good read, does it?! Take out the part where I get fucked by old men for a living and it's a fucking great story, isn't it? I'm such a well-developed character, aren't I, Arthur? What do you think?"

Arthur rose from where he was sitting on the bed, fingers curling at his sides, struggling to make a response.

"Alfred, don't put words in my mouth." he warned gently, a fixed scowl on his paling face.

"Isn't it ironic though, Arthur? How wonderful things work out for your Alfred? I bet you're planning on giving him his own little happily-ever-after too, huh? Who would've thunk' the real Alfred was trekking down the same path as his druggie, miserable excuse for a sister? Betcha' he dies the exact same way, hmm? Betcha he dies alone, overdosed, in the arms of another? Alone but always in constant company! Isn't that great?" he mused bitterly, a mock enthusiasm to his voice.

"Alfred, stop." The gentleness ceased.

"Do what you want, Arthur. Really and honestly, you do what you want. Just don't you dare for one second tell me you love me. Or, hell, tell me your feelings for me come anywhere close to 'love'! I'm worthless. Disgusting. A whore. Hell, I'm all those things and a lot more. But 'loveable' isn't on the list, sweetheart!"

"Shut up!" Arthur tried again, fists on either side of him; tightening harder and harder the longer the American went on. "Shut up for a bloody second and listen to me! You're not disgusting! And I don't—!"

"Who are you to decide that? You've fucked me once—no, twice. I'll grant you that much—and suddenly, 'whoop!' You love me. You don't love me. You just love being inside of me. It's as simple as that, Mr. Asexual."

Arthur's eyes darkened at that. "Leave my sexuality out of this, please and thank you."

"Whatever, Kirkland." He growled back, whipping his face away in favor of staring daggers down at the floor instead. "It doesn't matter! I'm just your character and now you're seeing another side of me. The actual me. Just a low-life. A back-talking, used-up prostitute with a dirty mouth. I apologize."

"No." Arthur hissed, latching out and gripping the other's arm, squeezing as hard as his muscles would allow him to. "Look at me, damn it."

Watering baby blues flickered over briefly and the Briton thought for a split second, in the midst of all the anger burning in those eyes of his, he saw just a smidge of softness lingering.

He loosened his grip a tad, not wanting to inflict pain on the boy. If anything, Kirkland wished that crushing self-consciousness of his was a person. He'd be more than willing to deliver a punch smack-dab against its jaw, deliver a harsh elbow to its side, a swift kick to the groin. In fact, he'd pay special attention to the groin. He'd have it writhing on the floor, begging to be put out of its misery. And he'd allow that, by all means.

"I care so much about you." He whispered, but there was such an intensity in his voice the other found he couldn't even do as much as argue, let alone remember to breathe or blink for that matter. "Don't you bloody tell me I don't care about you, Alfred. I care so much more about you than I'd ever care to admit. You're not disgusting. You're not a whore. You tell me you're worthless one more time and so help me, I—fuck. I don't bloody know what I'll do. I've never remotely felt like this towards someone else before and damn it all, if this is love, I accept it! I could care less if you think I haven't known you long enough to 'develop feelings for you' or whatnot! I love you, you twat!"

"B-But how can you when I'm—!"

Arthur wasn't about to let him finish that thought.

"When you're what?!" he demanded of him, gripping the other by the shoulders. "You're dreadfully perfect, Alfred, so shut the hell up about all that nonsense! I don't want to hear it and by God I won't hear it! And perhaps, on a side note, I found you so perfect I wanted to make a character in your likeliness, hmm? Rather than just using you? Has that thought ever crossed your mind?" he snapped, ending his little tirade off with an indignant huff.

As soon as his breathing had regulated—an enormous feat for having shout for two minutes straight on end—and his poor, hammering heart had returned to his normal pace, his blood swarmed to his cheeks, a furious blush making its home on his face as he realized finally what he'd just poured out. Bloody hell, he'd just half shout out/ half proclaimed his love for the boy in front of him… All the while, clutching onto him like some lovesick maniac.

That had to have been the single most embarrassing instance in his entire 20 some years of life.

"E-Er…I'm…" he sputtered out bashfully, releasing his hold on the other completely and shuffling back as if not sure what to do with himself. "Uh…well…I…"

But the American didn't let him finish; he buried himself in the Brit's arms, sniveling and sobbing and digging his nails in his back, hot tears pouring from his eyes and staining his shirt.

"Thank you, Arthur." He whispered into the crook of his neck, holding onto him for dear life. "Thank you so much."

And despite still blushing like a buffoon, Arthur placed a tender kiss to the boy's hair, drawing him in as close as he could manage.

"No. Thank you, Alfred."

"You're up early." The remark made was innocent enough, the speaker letting a small smile grace his lips after saying it. Without so much as turning around, Arthur had sensed the younger scamper into the kitchen behind him and he had to admit, to a subconscious level at the very least, that the boy shuffling in so quietly, nervous to draw attention to himself, was cute. "But in perfect time, might I add. I'm brewing a cuppa up for myself as we speak. If you'd like a cup, I'd be more than fine with—"

"Do you have any coffee?"

He rubbed his cheek gingerly for a second as if the boy had slapped him with that question.

And then he frowned—or rather pouted—down at his work again. "No. I believe not."

Alfred plopped down on one of the chairs seated at the kitchen table and sighed. "Then tea's fine." He said dejectedly, bloody well sounding as if he'd just agreed to drink out of the toilet. And then he just stared.

And believe you him; Arthur could feel the eyes on his back. It was kind of hard not to when the other was blatantly ogling at him.

He wasn't entirely sure why—no, he knew why after that little outburst/confession of his the night before— but it caused his heart to skip a beat. He coughed, mentally cringing at how cliché his life was becoming. "Is there anything else I can get for you, love?"

…Damn it! "Erm…Alfred, I mean." He corrected himself without missing a beat.

He could hear Alfred clear his throat from behind him and he was thankful at that moment his horrendous blush wasn't noticeable.

"'Love' is fine." The American whispered, though his words were still loud enough for the other to hear.

He was 99.9% sure the noise he made in response was inhuman.

And he was 100% sure the tea stain he just made on himself in that little, shocked, possibly epileptic fit he just had would not be coming out easily.

"A-er-alright. If you wish." The Brit muttered under his breath, eyes flickering back for a second toward the other.

For minutes after the Brit had set down a cup in front of him, the two stayed quiet. And bloody hell was the silence slowly killing him.

So in that moment his mouth betrayed him and he said quite possibly the dumbest thing imaginable.

"Is it too forward of me to ask you to quit?"

Alfred blinked two doe eyes up at him, his blonde brows knitting as if he wasn't sure he heard right. "Hm?"

"I said," Arthur repeated, a heavy red color blooming on his cheeks, "is it too forward of me to ask you to quit your 'job'?"

Alfred shooed his question away immediately. "W-Why would I do something like that?!"

Needless to say this didn't help the Brit's growing embarrassment.

"Because I…I don't…."—he cleared his throat—"You could do better. I know you can and Alfred, I…truthfully I don't want this to end."

Alfred took an anxious sip from his cup in response, his fingers drumming again the china. "This 'job' keeps me fed, just by the by…"

Arthur sat himself down on the seat across from him, resting his cheek in his palm. "Let me find you another job."

"And what might that be, Arthur?" Alfred frowned, all meekness thrown out the window. "You do realize I don't even have so much as a high school diploma, right?"

"I'll…split the profits of my book with you for starters." He announced flatly, and try as he might, he couldn't get rid of the uneasiness nesting in the pit of his stomach as he said it.

"Wh-Why would you—?" Widened eyes narrowed with realization. "I don't need your pity, if that's what this is."

Arthur's hand shot out as he spoke, entwining his fingers with the others. "Let's not have a repeat of last night, alright, love? This isn't pity. You heard what I said yesterday. I don't pity you. I care about you. Besides, it's based on you anyway; I might as well pay you what you deserve."

His only response came as a muffled "mm".

"And as for your job, I'm sure you get something set up easily with Gilbert. My editor." He added when he noticed the other looking confused. "He could pull a couple strings here and there and get you a job at the publishing house. His older brother owns it after all."

If Arthur's eyes weren't betraying him, he'd say he saw a few stray tears trickle down the other's cheeks.

Oh hell, he was noticing he had a knack for making this boy burst into waterworks.

"I still don't understand I—"

And for the second time in the last twenty four hours, Arthur found himself cutting the boy off with a sloppy, enthusiastic kiss.

"How many times do I have to tell you I love you?"

And with a weak smile, Alfred found that was all he needed.

Consider him booked for life.

Cheesy ending is cheesy! ; u ; and dumb. I'm so sorry all of you had to read that. OTL anyhoo! About the next story! I'm planning on actually making an **outline** for it!*shocked gasps from the audience* Yeah, you heard it! No more of me going ":D hehe! I have no idea how this story's going to end so let me just make this up as I go and just bang my head against the keyboard until I make words"…well, there still might be a little of that –w-; *cough* so, yup! But I'm still confused as to which direction I want to go.

I was thinking either (doesn't want to give it away here so I'll be vague):

The 20's (flappers, etc.), a super hero/ villain story, or possibly something a bit more morbid in Victorian London ;3; I don't know which one to use! I'd love to hear your input!

Also, do you prefer UkUs or UsUk or both?