Alfred's POV

Arthur's condition has been getting worse and worse. He literally resembles one of those zombies in my video games; he has rings under his eyes, walks with a shuffle, and only gives grunts or one word replies for answers.

"Arthur, are you sure there's nothing I can do?" I ask him between classes one day. He eyes me and grunts.

"Come on, I need a little more than an 'ungh' for an answer!" I swing an arm across his shoulders and Arthur collapses under its weight.

"Whoa dude! I'm really sorry! I didn't mean to do that!" I haul Arthur back to his feet and he fixes me with a death glare. Combined with his undead appearance, it's scary enough to give me nightmares for several nights. He begins walking at a slightly faster pace but I catch up to him easily.

I walk in front of Arthur and stop him in his tracks. "Arthur. Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

"Why do you fucking care, git?" Arthur spits out. He trys to get around me but I don't let him pass.

"Because you're my friend!"

"No, I'm not."

I insist stubbornly, "To me you are. You're my only friend here, and I think you're really cool and awesome." I've caught Arthur off-guard and I notice his ears turning pink.

"Nobody's ever said that to me before." he mumbles, and I'm genuinely surprised.

"Really? Why not? You're a really nice guy."

"People don't want to associate with me, nice or not."

"Whhhyyyyyy?"

"I don't like people, people don't like me. End of story."

"If you open up a little bit more, maybe people will get to know you and like you."

Arthur scoffs. "Opening up to people? That would make me vulnerable, and people will attack those vulnerabilities until you're a weeping, broken mess. I would rather not."

"Has that happened to you before?" I ask, and I notice that he looks a little pained for a moment.

"It isn't something I talk about."

"What did they do to you?" I can't imagine Arthur being hurt like that, and it makes me want to punch his tormentors.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

He explodes. "ALFRED, WHEN I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING TALK ABOUT IT, I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING TALK ABOUT IT ALRIGHT?" His face is red, and when the color finally recedes from his face he turns and walks briskly away from me.

"Arthur! Wait up!"

"I'm going to class. Don't catch up."

"Arthur, you're going the wrong way!"

"WHAT?"

We have less than 2 minutes to get to our next class, and the professor is anal about being late.

"I see no other option then…" I scoop him up, bridal style. He gives a surprised squawk and I run down the hall and Arthur pounds my chest angrily.

"Put me down! Put me down you fucking idiot! This is so degrading! How DARE you!"

I laugh. "Hey! We're having a real conversation!"

"FUCK YOU!"

I sprint down the hallways, twisting and turning while Arthur swears and pounds me. We finally reach our classroom and I set him down and we burst in just as the bell rings.

"I see that you've made it just in time, Mr. Jones and Mr. Kirkland." The professor glares sternly at us as we walk to our seats. After giving Arthur and me one last glare, he begins his lesson about equations.

While the professor drones on and on, I sneak a peek at Arthur. He's slumped in his seat, fast asleep with a line of drool dribbling down his chin. I turn around and actually pay attention for the rest of the lesson, remembering to take extra notes for Arthur seeing how he's in no state to take any himself. The bell startles Arthur out of his nap, and he looks at his damp, drool-covered blank notebook and panics.

"Oh shit—"

"Don't worry dude! I got you covered!" I rip out a page in my notebook and hand it to him. "I took notes for you." Arthur scans the paper and looks at me in awe.

"These…these are really good notes…"

"The hero saves the day again!" I laugh triumphantly, receiving several distasteful looks from my departing classmates. I merely wave at them.

"Thanks."

"No problem!" I grin at him, and we stand there for a few moments. Arthur finally clears his throat.

"Let's head to our next class…. I don't want you carrying me again…"

"Sure thing! Even though carrying you was a lot of fun."

"…fuck you."

Arthur's POV

The past several days have been a living hell for me; Scott now shoves all his homework on me and if I refuse, he threatens me with the same threat "I'll tell everyone about you". Not only that but he has also told Barney and Hugo about my service to him and now they're giving me their homework too. I'm averaging an hour of sleep per night…sometimes less. I've been close to crying a few times, but Hugo, Barney, and Scott used to tease me viciously for being a crybaby so I've stopped crying altogether. If they heard me sobbing in my room I'd hear no end of it.

School is getting tougher. Now that the teachers have grown out of their warm, "welcome to school" attitudes, they are becoming stricter and they pile on more homework each night. Alfred tries conversing with me, but I hear little of whatever shit he's babbling about so I grunt or nod in reply. My answers seem to satisfy him though, until today. Alfred's whining about how I won't tell him why I'm so tired. I passively argue with him, brushing off his words until…

"To me you are. You're my only friend here, and I think that you're really cool and awesome." It's the first time that someone else other than Mum or my mint bunny has said that to me, and I'm caught off guard. I didn't expect a compliment from someone I've only known for less than a month. Then he starts asking me personal questions, questions that remind me of the incident in middle school. My chest begins to hurt, and I manage to hold back a breakdown. The memory is too painful for me to forget; my schoolmates and former friends taunting me, hitting me, spitting at me, and looking at me in disgust, like I'm the dirt on the bottom of their shoes. His concern for me is irritating. After I explode in his face, I calm down and walk in the other direction.

"Arthur! Wait up!"

I walk faster. "I'm going to class. Don't catch up."

"Arthur, you're going the wrong way!"

"WHAT?" I stop and spin around to look at the clock.

We have only two minutes to get to math class, which is at the other side of the school. Alfred doesn't seem to care; he shrugs and picks me up like a princess. Although I swear and hit him, he does get us to class on time. The professor glares and reprimands us, but he doesn't give Alfred and me detention. I walk to my seat with my head bowed and sit down, ignoring the whispers and looks of my classmates. Alfred, on the other hand, walks confidently beside me and gives everyone a huge grin before sitting behind me. I drift off to sleep, lulled by the monotonous buzz of the professor's voice. At the end of the class, I realize that I've taken no notes at all, but Alfred saves my ass by taking notes for me. I'm amazed by the level of detail of the notes. There are equations, diagrams, charts, side notes, and little helpful comments. I didn't expect such quality from an idiot like him; even though we started a whole new lesson and I fell asleep for the entire time, I understand what we're doing just by looking over the notes once. Maybe he isn't so useless after all…

Our next class is cooking. I don't think I'm that bad at cooking, but Hugo, Barney, and Scott complain that my scones resemble charcoal briquettes more than food. To hell with their opinions, I don't give a fuck about them. On the other hand, when I made mum breakfast in bed, she choked and said with tears in her eyes, "Arthur…your cooking is truly…interesting…" I don't want to poison her so I signed up for this class, hoping that I will learn how make better food.

The class is taught by an obnoxious Frenchman, Professor Bonnefoy. When we walk through the door he greets us over-enthusiastically.

"Welcome mes chéris, to another wonderful day learning how to cook with moi, Professeur Bonnefoy!" He winks at a cluster of girls, and they immediately blush and giggle. Disgusted, I ignore them and take a seat.

"Today we'll start off with something simple; chocolate chip cookies! When you're done making them, you can give them to a girl or boy as a token de l'amour. Ahdoux,l'amourdes jeunes!" Professor Bonnefoy coos, waltzing around the room. He sits on the desk of a girl, and she blushes heavily. He brushes his long blonde hair aside and continues talking.

"The key ingredient in these cookies is chocolat. It is an aphrodisiac as well." He winks suggestively at this. "Handmade gifts are especially heartwarming; your histoire d'amour will know that you spent time and effort into making these treats, and they simply cannot refuse!" With that, he hops off her desk, but not before blowing a kiss to her. She gasps and blushes even harder. I gnash my teeth; this perverted bastard is getting on my nerves. Professor Bonnefoy claps his hands.

"Everybody to your cooking stations! My instructions are on the blackboard, and I will come around pour vousaider. Get started!"

The ingredients have already been laid out for us at our work stations, and Alfred starts mixing and measuring. Unsure, I keep glancing at the board, but even with the instructions my dough isn't the right consistency. I know that dough is supposed to be sticky, but I don't think that it's supposed to stick to the sides of the bowl like rubber cement. I add more water and milk, and I stir vigorously. It soon drains me of my strength; it's like mixing cement, and I don't want to ask Alfred or anybody else to help, so I struggle with the dough by myself. Finally, it's the right consistency, and I measure out dollops of dough on my baking pan. Professor Bonnefoy is flouncing around the room, tasting a little bit of dough from my classmates' mixing bowls, and giving suggestions. I notice how he lightly rests his hands on the shoulder and arms of the girls, and how all of them blush madly. He irritates me so much. I crank the dial of my oven furiously and shove the pan inside. Professor Bonnefoy reaches the station Alfred and I are at, and he smiles at me.

"Wonderful! You are the first one finished, machère!" He gently places a hand on my shoulder and I edge away from his touch.

I mutter, "Thanks." Professor Bonnefoy looks a little hurt by my rejection of his advances, but shrugs and moves onto Alfred.

Everyone is soon finished with their cookies, and we wait for them to finish baking. I use this time to do a little bit of the chemistry report with Alfred, but I don't talk to him at all unless necessary. There's a faint burning smell, but I guess it's the cookies baking. The timer sounds, and we head back to our ovens to check on our cookies. I pull mine out first, and I cringe at the sight of them. The cookies are burnt to a crisp, completely blackened, and give off a foul odor. Professor Bonnefoy comes over and crinkles his nose.

"Mon dieu, what went wrong?"

"I don't know," I growl, "I followed all the instructions!" He inspects the oven.

"Ah, I see the problem. The problem is, machère, is that you have set the oven at 276 degrees Celsius instead of 148 degrees. Was there also a problem with the dough?"

"Yeah," Alfred pipes up, "I saw him mix it. It was more like cement than anything." Professor Bonnefoy sighs softly, looking sadly at my tray. "It always pains my heart to see food like this…"

I grumble and scrape the damned cookies into the rubbish bin. Alfred snatches one up before it tumbles into the bin and eats it, chewing thoughtfully.

"I think it isn't that bad… it's really crunchy. Lots of texture."

"Oh stop trying to make me feel better. I know it fucking tastes horrible…" I steal a glance at Alfred's cookies. They came out absolutely gorgeous. The aroma is so heavenly that it drives away the odor of my cooking. The cookies look so soft, so inviting, so delicious… my mouth begins to water.

"Trèsbonne, Alfred! Very well done indeed!"

"'Didn't know you cooked." I mutter, and Alfred smiles sheepishly.

"Well, it comes naturally to me I think… it wouldn't be very manly of the star quarterback to be seen making cake, would it?"

"No… I suppose not…"

After the cookies have properly cooled we place them into brown bags to take home. Soon, Professor Bonnefoy has a heap of cookies on his desk courtesy of all the girls in the class. I am repulsed by his flirting with his students and I have the strong urge to pummel him in his perverted face. I don't know why girls like him; is it his long girly blonde hair, perverted blue eyes, or the manly stubble on his chin that makes girls flock to him like geese? Everything about him disgusts me.

"Mmm! These cookies are really good! You want some too?" The final bell has rung and the other students are milling about at the gates, waiting to be picked up. Alfred and I are walking across the grounds and he offers the bag of cookies to me. Reluctantly, I take one.

"Hey you still aren't grumpy about cooking class right?"

"No. My cooking is always like this. I'm thinking about work."

Alfred groans. "Awwww you always think about work! Why don't you chill for a little bit?"

Indignant, I say, "I have far higher priorities than 'chilling out'. Some things are more important than having fun." I walk slightly faster, but Alfred catches up to me.

"Hey… did I piss you off or something?" I slow down. He's clearly worried about me.

"I'm sorry…" I sigh, and rub my temples. "It's just… my nerves are worn short by lack of sleep, work, and school."

"So…why are you working so hard anyways?"

"None of your business. Don't you ever quit asking this question?"

"Nope! I won't give up until you tell me!" He grins and pokes my cheek and I slap his hand away.

"Git." But I smile a little. I've realized Alfred can be quite entertaining sometimes. His sunny temperament can make somebody feel a little less moody at times.

"Hey! You smiled!" Alfred is quick to notice it, and I hide my smile by frowning.

"What are you talking about? I wasn't smiling, stop being stupid you idiot."

"Your denial makes you even guiltier you know."

"Shut up." I shove him, but it has no effect. Alfred laughs, then asks, "Soo… about the project… we can't finish it at this rate. Can you ask your manager for some time off?"

I chew my lip thoughtfully. "I could try… I've been working hard, so I'm pretty sure he'll let me take a week or two off."

"AWESOME. Your house or mine?"

"Yours." I reply at once. I don't want him to meet my brothers, especially Scott. Who knows what they'll tell him.

"But," I say, "This doesn't mean that we're friends. I'm merely your lab partner coming over to do a project." Alfred shrugs.

"Sure, whatever. I still consider you a friend you know, even if you don't feel the same way." I sputter intelligently and Alfred grins.

"Let's go talk to your manager, see if he's gonna let you or not."

"You want time off? For how long?" My manager asks when Alfred and I approach him.

"Just a week or so, long enough to finish my science report sir. When I return, I will work twice as hard."

"That won't be necessary. Take as much time off as you need. And go visit your mother if you haven't; she's probably getting awfully lonely." I stiffen, and Alfred shoots a look at me.

"Thank you very much sir." I'm eager to go, but Alfred asks, "What's wrong with his mom?" I groan silently to myself.

"I'll leave it to Arthur to tell you, but poor thing, her condition…"

"Okay. Thanks for letting Arthur have time off!" Mr. Harris, my manager, chuckles.

"Not a problem. Just work together and you can have your time off starting next time."

"Again, thank you for very much sir!" I hurry to the back room to drop my backpack and change into my uniform. When I re-emerge, Mr. Harris and Alfred are deep in conversation.

"—moved from New York City and I was the quarterback of my school's football team. I was born here in England though, but I moved to the States when I was a year old."

"I see. How is it in New York?"

"Where I lived in there were lots of skyscrapers, concrete, and pavement obviously. I hardly ever saw any green unless it was Central Park. There was a lot to do there, kind of like here."

"Do you miss it?"

"Yeah, sometimes. But I like it here, and I've made a new friend, so everything's good." They hear me come out of the room and turn around.

"Heya Arthur! Can I stay a while?" Alfred beams happily at me.

"Yeah sure, but there since isn't going to be a lot of customers today I'll be doing homework, so nothing interesting."

"That's cool, I can talk to you at least! Oh oh! We could also do homework together!"

"Whatever." I try to reach a box on top of a bookshelf, but I'm too short. Alfred comes up from behind and reaches around me and grabs the box for me. He comes very close to me, so close that I can feel the heat radiate from his skin.

"Here 'ya go! Are you okay? Your face is red." Oh shit.

"It's nothing. I'm perfectly alright." I turn on my heel and hurry towards the storage room clutching the box of old records.

Alfred's POV

Arthur has never told me anything about his family, so I was interested when his manager mentioned his mom. After calling Liz and assuring her that my homework was finished, I stay for Arthur's entire shift. Now that all of The Crusade CD's are sold, there's only three other people in the store. After Arthur and his manager close up the store, Arthur and I depart and I bring up the subject of his mom.

"Is your mom okay?"

"She's fine." But as he says this his ears turn red and he fiddles with his bag.

"You're a really bad liar, you know?"

After a while, Arthur suddenly speaks.

"She's sick."

"Who? Your mom?"

"Who else?" he sighs. "She's got the flu and she's in the hospital. My brothers and I are working to pay her hospital bills, insurance, and our rent." Arthur looks away from me and when he talks again, his voice breaks.

"I don't know how long she's going to stay hospitalized and if she's going to get better or not. Her health has always been bad, and since dad left…" He suddenly stops.

"I've said too much. Why am I telling you this in the first place?"

"It must be really hard, balancing work, school, and life at the same time." Arthur scoffs and ignores me.

"I'm really sorry about your mom…" He turns on me angrily.

"The last thing I need is pity. I don't need your pity. Your pity does NOTHING for me. I have no use for it. Keep it to yourself."

"What do you want me to do then? I can't stand here and watch you suffer; I'm a hero! Heroes save people in trouble."

"You don't need to do anything. Just be my partner for this assignment and that's all the help I need."

"Are you sure?" That doesn't seem very helpful to me.

"Dammit Alfred, stop being so concerned about me! I can handle this myself."

"But you're my friend…" I pout, and Arthur rolls his eyes and snorts.

"Whatever. My house is in that direction. I'll see you tomorrow." With that, he walks down the street and disappears from sight.

As I lay in bed, I think about what kind of a person Arthur is. He's like… a coconut. All hard and tough on the outside, but inside he was just a kid who really cared about his mom. I wonder how my own parents are doing…probably really well. Dad would be sitting in his chair happily dreaming of his son going to Harvard upon his return, graduating au cum laude and getting a job as a lawyer at some big firm and being rich and successful. Mom would support anything dad says, if she thinks otherwise he will find a way to "convince her". Such was the case when they told me I was going to be moving here.

"Hey mom hey dad, I'm home!" I was back from football practice and I dumped my bag in the foyer. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with my shirtsleeve and grinned at them.

"Hey son." Usually I'm totally incapable of reading the atmosphere, but that day it felt tense, strained.

"So what's up?"

"Your mother and I have noticed that your grades are dropping…" I groaned.

"Dad, is this the grade thing again? I keep telling you that I'm working really hard!"

"Son, I don't think that you're working hard enough. Your mother and I have decided the best option is for you is to move to England." My jaw and heart dropped in disbelief.

"WHAT? ARE YOU SERIOUS?"

"I'm dead serious. Your Aunt Elizabeth mentioned a while ago that the education in England is very good. I've decided that it's the thing you need to get your grades back on track. You won't have a problem moving to England since you're considered a citizen there."

"But what about my friends? Kristina? The football team! Stuyvesant won't make it to state without me!"

"Son, if your grades aren't good then you won't get into a good college and if you don't get a good education then you'll in trouble when you're trying to find work and competing against Ivy League graduates."

"I don't believe this." I sank into a chair.

"Your father and I love you very much and we want the best for you. Please try to understand our decision. I was a little unsure at first, but your father convinced me that this is the best way." My mom was almost in tears. So that was what they were arguing about a few days earlier.

"Oh Al, I love you so much, and I don't want to let you go, but it's for your own good." She continued and hugged me, and I returned the hug half-heartedly.

"You can always make new friends in England. You can still talk to your friends here too." She tried to soothe me while my dad stood on the opposite side of the room stoically. I saw no point in arguing and my stubbornness was no use.

"Whatever. Fine. I'll move to England, if it makes you happy. It's not like I have a choice in this."

My dad's eyes flash angrily. "Now see here young man…" But I won't. Although I had no choice in moving, I put in a few words of my own.

"No dad, I won't 'see here.' Why do you go deciding something like that for me without asking me? You're telling me to give up my friends, my girlfriend, and my dream of taking the team to nationals. Why should I 'see here'? Am I being unreasonable? I don't have to go to an Ivy League school to succeed! Why is everything about grades for you? Grades aren't everything!" I ran to my room and slammed and locked the door. He pounded on the door, demanding that I open up the "God dammed door". He went on to say that I was unreasonable, that this was for my own good, that I didn't appreciate anything they did for me, that my stubbornness will be the death of me. On the other side of the door I was curled up on my bed silently fuming.

"ALFRED, YOU OPEN UP THE FUCKING DOOR RIGHT NOW OR I WILL KICK IT IN."

"Michael! Don't curse in front of him!" My mom implored, and I easily imagined her outside clutching at him while he foamed at the mouth. But I did exactly what he said, and interrupted him in mid-rant.

"When do I leave?"

I open up my eyes, and the memory ends. Maybe my mother was right; things were going to be okay over here.

/Author's note/

Hello! Sorry for not updating in a long time...I didn't get a chance to work on this over vacation. But now i'm back, and I hope that this makes up for it ^^

Yay! France makes an entrance as the perverted cooking teacher XD haha

Please review ^^ Thank you~

I don't own Hetalia or it's respective characters. they belong to their creator Hidekaz Himaruya .