Arthur felt horrible now. He had kissed a man who was in a relationship...and had seemed too hurt when he felt Arthur's lips on his. It was definitely raining in London, he just knew it was. He didn't even have to get the call he did from one of his bosses, and yet he still took it, and apologized for it.

There was one person who could probably cheer him up, and Arthur dreaded going to admit that he did in fact cheer him up. That silly, nineteen year old...American. He was nothing but a prat. But...he could cheer the Brit up with his obnoxious ways. Sighing softly, he trudged off the train with the rest of the bleak Americans, and looked around. It was slightly prettier around here than he had remembered from the last time, but he shrugged it off, and walked down the street to Alfred's house.

He knocked on the door, and waited. Nothing. He knocked again. "Alfred!"he called. "I know you're in there. Your car is in the driveway!"

"Come in!" It sounded distant, and strained, and Arthur was suddenly flooded with worry. He thrust his shoulder against the locked door, and stumbled through the door. Looking up, his green eyes widened in horror, and then swallowed slowly, and then felt like backing up very slowly, forgetting that the door's rubble rested beneath his feet.

The sight before him - The Russian, pinning the American down on the couch, thrusting deeply - was horrible. And the sounds. England made it out the door, then he bent over and let out his guts, behind a bush, in Alfred's yard. Obviously he was going to be of no help. Thinking about it, he really needed just to go talk to Matt.

So, with trying to push that previous image from his brain, he got back on the train.
Hopefully Matt would be understanding.

Oh, the surprise he'd be in store for.