For once, I've got no notes with which to bore you guys.

Enjoy. ^^

October

Elizaveta called Alfred and announced that she had decided, and the next day they went to a coffee shop together and broke up spectacularly over cappuccinos. Upon hearing the tabloids recount the spectacle, Arthur had to admit that it seemed their acting skills had become truly formidable – apparently, the show had been complete with screaming, accusations, tears, spilt coffee, and a broken mug, a last act which Alfred admitted might have been a little over the top but garnered a reaction from the general public that was totally worth what he had to pay to replace it.

November

Elizaveta allowed several weeks to pass before she put her decision into affect; as soon as these had come and gone, she woke up one morning, donned her red silk scarf (ever since Keep Dreaming, America had premiered, this had become something of an iconic symbol of hers), prettied up her hair, put on a touch of lipstick and perfume, and headed to World Series Entertainment, punctuating her every step with the sharp clack of her high heels. Antonio was vacationing in Spain with Romano, so she knew Gilbert would be alone, which was exactly how she wanted him – Elizaveta was a strong woman to say the least, but despite her chosen profession, she wasn't much for public spectacles that had to do with her personal matters.

She got into the elevator and took it to the top floor, so intent upon her goal that she scarcely spared the slightest nod to anyone else who entered and tried to make conversation. Finally, the doors chimed open and she marched down the hallway, heels ringing out against the tile, the sound mingling with the low thud of heavy metal music. She smiled – the sound wasn't as sweet as classical, but she found that it fitted the rhythm of her footsteps and matched the pace of her heart.

She didn't bother to knock, of course, merely threw open the door, went over to the stereo, and snapped the music off, causing Gilbert to spring suddenly awake and provoking a little chorus of chirping from the chicks that had been nestled near his body. Elizaveta sighed, picking her way around the little yellow bodies, and stood before Gilbert, who was still splayed awkwardly across his couch, watching her with his mouth slightly ajar, silver hair ruffled and shirt wrinkled and tie hanging loosely around his neck.

"E-Elizaveta," he finally stuttered, seeming to make some sort of effort to sit up. "T-to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Elizaveta had no plans to dally.

"Remember my thing with Alfred?"

"Your…" Gilbert wrinkled his nose. "Yes."

"It was all a hoax. I was his beard, basically. He's been fucking Arthur for months now," she shrugged. "To be frank, there was so much sexual tension between them all the time that I can't believe the tabloids didn't pick up on it. Actually, I can't believe you didn't pick up on it, Gil," she chuckled fondly. "What with all the times somebody's caught them in the elevator or on the stairs around here. Come to think of it, half the studio's known forever," she paused; Gilbert's mouth was still hanging slightly ajar. "So anyways, there was nothing between us, which means you can stop pining now."

After a moment more of stunned silence, Gilbert started to grin.

"Ha! I so knew that there was somethin' going on between them! Arthur kept looking at him all funny all the time, and there was this one thing at the premiere after party…I thought I was so drunk I was seeing things, but I guess…I guess I wasn't…" he paused, his brow furrowing, then he blushed. "H-hold on, Elizaveta…who ever said anything about pining? I haven't been pining! I'd be too awesome to pine even if there were a good reason to!"

Elizaveta quirked a brow.

"Oh really? No good reason? That's a shame," she sighed, glancing at her nails. "And to think I had come all the way here to announce that I've chosen you."

Gilbert swallowed audibly, his eyes widening for a moment before they narrowed. "Hey, who do you think you are anyways, Elizaveta? I mean, sure, you're the most beautiful and talented and smart and strong girl I've ever met, and now you're really famous, but still, you can't just walk up to a guy after playing him for a while and announce that you've decided to deign to award him the privilege of going out with you," he paused. "Dammit, I sound like some stupid kid in junior high. Look, what I'm trying to say is, you shouldn't make assumptions like that. It's obnoxious and self-assured and it really doesn't suit you."

Elizaveta was quiet for a moment, then she smiled and threw her arms around Gilbert's neck. He stiffened beneath her, and she heard him take a little intake of breath, but otherwise he didn't respond, merely sort of rested his chin on her shoulder as if he were tolerating her, that and nothing more.

"This is what I love about you, Gilbert," she told him, "you're such a challenge. I have to apologize; I've been a little bit tricky. Of course I don't expect you to have been pining or anything, and to be honest, I don't think I'd really want to be with someone who didn't protest against my barging in here and stuff. I guess I was testing you a little bit, which isn't very nice either, but still, you should know that I think you're cool, Gilbert, and interesting and shit like that. Sorry," she sighed. "I'm not very eloquent. I've always been better when I'm pretending."

Gilbert was quiet for a long moment.

"Sure, I'm cool," he said finally. "I mean, I'm awesome. I'm the most awesome there ever was," another long pause, "but that doesn't mean…I don't think…look, maybe I'm not what you need, Elizaveta."

"And since when is that something for you to decide?"

"I-it's not! Look, Eliza, I'm just saying…you see, I'm not very…reliable. I throw bitchin' parties and I'm a bigshot in the movie business and I'm a total beast in the sack, but otherwise…there's really not all that much…to be said. Whereas with you," she felt his chin shift slightly against her shoulder. "Who knows where life will take you, and that's awesome, and you don't need somebody like me hanging around to keep that from happening."

Elizaveta rolled her eyes, pulled back from the embrace, took Gilbert's tie in her hand, and kissed him, letting it last only for a few seconds (during which he was too surprised to respond) before she pulled away and smiled at him.

"I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much."

Gilbert blinked at her almost warily.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely positive. If you'll have me, that is."

And finally, Gilbert smiled, hooking his finger beneath her chin to tilt her face and kiss her again, and in the moment before their lips met he told her that if he wouldn't, he was the biggest fool in the world.

December

Arthur had never celebrated Christmas the American Way before, and Alfred saw this as something that required immediate remedy at the hands of miles of Christmas lights, pounds of cookie dough, a tree that wouldn't even fit through the door of his apartment, and veritable gallons of eggnog - though, admittedly, Arthur didn't necessarily disapprove of this last measure.

And all this excitement culminated on Christmas Eve, when they accidentally decided to move in together. If Arthur had written the script, it might have looked a little something like this:

Francis – (taking a sip of wine) My dear Alfred, I must confess that your apartment is simply lovely, as is your hospitality. It has been far too long since I experienced such a warm and welcoming household. Arthur is absolutely unbearable as a roommate, I'm afraid.

Alfred – Well shucks, Francis, thanks, I'm -

Arthur – I most certainly am not. If you would act like a decent human being and actually clean up your things, I wouldn't have to pester you so much.

Francis – I've offered before and I'll offer again: if it bothers you so, mon ami, you are free to move out whenever you wish.

Arthur – If it would please you, ma cherie, perhaps I will.

Francis – Then by all means, do. But I must know, ma femme, where do you plan on going?

Arthur – (falling silent)

Alfred – (trying to disguise hope) You could always crash here.

(Elizaveta puts down her fork and knife, coming immediately to attention)

Arthur – (regaining composure) Y-yes, I suppose I could. If I bother you so terribly much, Francis, I'll simply leave and move in with Alfred. (glances at Alfred) If it wouldn't be any trouble, of course.

Alfred – No, no, of course not!

Francis – (smirking, exchanging a glance with Elizaveta) Then what are you waiting for, Arthur?

Arthur – (still oblivious) Shut up, frog. It's settled. As long as you're sure I won't be a bother, Alfred, I'll start packing my stuff in a few days.

Alfred – (disbelieving) Sounds great, I'll be happy to have you.

Francis – Well, you've certainly shown me up, Arthur.

Arthur – I'm aware.

(The room is quiet for a moment; Francis takes another sip of his wine, Alfred continues quietly eating, Elizaveta bites down on her knuckle, and Arthur suddenly drops his knife with a clatter)

Arthur – (blushing) I have to use the restroom. (Exit)

(Another moment of silence. Eventually, all burst out laughing. End scene.)

January

The New Year came and went, they all waited with baited breath, and finally, the nominations began to arrive. Alfred clutched the phone with trembling hands, Arthur was halfway through congratulating him when his own cell went off in his pocket, Elizaveta called a few minutes later bubbling over with excitement, and they were just wrapping up their conversation when another call came in and Francis was nearly weeping with joy on the other line.

Best Actor

Best Actress in a supporting role

Best Director

Best Film

Best Screenplay

Arthur treated each title like a treasure, and so did Alfred, though later that night as they lay between the sheets, Arthur rolled over in his arms and saw a worried little crease between his brows. He asked what was the matter, and Alfred glanced at him, smiling almost apologetically.

"I know I'm not supposed to pester you about this, Arthur," he murmured, reaching down to play with Arthur's fingers as he spoke, "but getting the nominations reminded me of how long it's been, and I…well, I was just thinking…when are we going to…I mean, Elizaveta's been with Gilbert for a while now, so when is it going to be alright…that we…that we…"

Arthur sighed, having long since realized what Alfred was trying to ask. "I just…I know that I promised you, Alfred, and I won't forget…it's only…"

"You're a private man," said Alfred dully, putting Arthur's hand back on his thigh. Arthur sighed, winding their fingers together before Alfred could pull his hand away again.

"Alfred, please don't look like that. You know I…you know that's it not…" he bit his lower lip. "It's not something that's easy for me."

"I know," Alfred paused. "But sometimes it just feels like…like…" he looked away. "Like, I don't know, you're…like you're ashamed or something."

"I'm not," Arthur leaned forwards and gripped Alfred's chin in his hand. "I am not ashamed of anything. Not of myself, not of you, not of us," he leaned forwards and kissed him. "Please believe me, Alfred."

Alfred said he did, but he wouldn't stop staring at the sheets, and Arthur got the feeling that he wasn't entirely convinced.

February

The last Oscars ceremony Hollywood would ever hold came a little earlier than usual that year, and before Arthur knew it he was donning a tuxedo and slipping into a limousine on his way to the red carpet all over again, except this time around he traveled with Alfred and Francis because Elizaveta wanted to show off her newly-acquired Gilbert to the fullest extent possible. The entire process was somewhat dreamy, just a blur of flashing cameras and chattering voices and mountains of tulle and lace and silk and gold and too many questions even though hardly anyone was interested in Arthur or Francis at all, instead swarming Alfred, brimming with inquiries regarding his breakup, his plans for the future, his thoughts on his nomination, everything, everything, everything, and Arthur was very glad indeed when he could finally take his seat and lean back as the ceremonies began.

Alfred lost best actor, and that was perfectly alright because he hadn't been expecting to win anyways; despite his popularity, he would have been too fresh and inexperienced even if there weren't more talented nominees. When Elizaveta won best actress in a supporting role, she could scarcely speak she was so overcome and more of dithered on about her fledgling relationship with Gilbert than anything else, though she did manage to thank Arthur and Francis and Alfred at the very end of her speech before she dissolved entirely into tears. Though Francis was a little peeved to lose both best film and best director, he understood that they didn't really deserve either, especially not from an American audience.

When they called Arthur's name for best screenplay, he supposed he must have stood up and walked down the aisle to receive his statue, but the first thing he was truly conscious of was standing in front of the podium holding the little golden figure in both hands, completely lost for words. He swallowed, scanning the audience a little frantically, and then caught sight of Alfred, saw him grinning and giving him a thumbs up, and coughed, finding his voice again at last.

"What an ironic situation this is," he said, and was gratified that his voice didn't tremble or threaten to break. "Here I am, receiving the most enormous possible honor for my writing…and I am entirely lost for words." The audience rumbled appreciatively and Arthur felt his composure come rushing back.

"I suppose that the natural course of action to take is to give out my thank yous first and foremost," he paused, gazing for a moment at his gold figurine, running his thumb along its side disbelievingly. "Thank you to the Academy for bestowing such an incredible honor upon me. Thank you to World Series Entertainment for taking a handful of foreigners on and helping them along to moderate glory. Thank you, America, for receiving what may not have been the most…well, let's just come out say it, the most tactful script," at this the audience rumbled again, "with a grace of which the world sometimes forgets you are capable. And thank you," his voice softened, "to Francis and Elizaveta, my best friends in the world, the pillars without which I cannot stand, the two people who showed me how to live and successfully made my silly pipedream a reality. And lastly," he paused, gazed out into the audience again, and swallowed. "Well, lastly, there is a gratitude in my heart that I cannot hope to express with mere words. I…I never would have thought...I never would have thought that in making this movie, I would come across something that would be…" his voice fell, "…more precious than this, than this honor, than being here today and being acknowledged by such a grand empire of film in her final moments. No, the idea wouldn't have crossed my mind. But then again, I've never been one to believe in such things," he paused. "But I digress - there is only one way that I could ever hope of expressing my gratitude, and I…I am just now realizing that it must be done here and now, and it is rather frightening me but…well, before I explain myself further, I believe it should be known," he paused, then continued matter-of-factly, "that I am gay. But I doubt you are terribly surprised, or that you care terribly much. I'm no celebrity, after all. However…"

He paused for a long moment, watching the audience and being watched right back.

"Alfred. Because most of the time you are a bother to me, I will never tell you this again, so listen well. I cannot hope to thank you for what you have done for me. I know all too well how you love to play these sorts of games, but I am afraid I will never find the right word to express my gratitude. So, I will settle for the next best thing," he looked away from the audience, speaking to the floor.

"Alfred, I love you. Ladies and gentleman, I love Alfred F. Jones. I have loved him for a while now and I don't intend to stop. This is to say that we've - "

Arthur never finished his sentence because, while he had been staring at his feet, Alfred had gotten up and hurried to the stage, and now he was taking the statue from Arthur's hands and kissing him, practically dipping him to the floor right in front of everyone, and it was all Arthur could do to throw his arms around his neck and hope they wouldn't fall.

March

It had been so long since Arthur had been homesick that he had nearly forgotten how to identify the feeling. However, as the hubbub surrounding the film (and his impromptu display) began to die down, likewise a persistent tiredness began to start up in his bones, and likewise Los Angeles began to seem more like a ruin than ever before, the little glitter she had left growing steadily duller and more tarnished, losing its value even as an antique.

When Arthur spoke with Francis and Elizaveta about this, he found that they shared his outlook, and when he admitted himself to Alfred, he discovered that there was little opposition to leaving at all. It wasn't, Alfred explained, that he relished the idea of leaving America, but if they were to further pursue their budding careers he had to admit that it would be best for them to get out while they were still able so that they could establish themselves internationally. And he was not the only one who shared in this sentiment – in fact, despite all the time they had managed to waste in Los Angeles, Gilbert and Antonio seemed suddenly tired as well, and as of late they had started meeting with Francis in secret, discussing things that they claimed were highly confidential and therefore were not to be divulged, even to the closest of friends.

Finally, Francis revealed his grand announcement: as of very soon, the Hollywood corporation known as World Series Entertainment would cease to exist. It would be replaced by the internationally oriented Bad Friends Trio Productions, a three-man film studio and partnership which Francis had just created with Gilbert and Antonio, and on which he would serve as senior director. This invitation, of course, was extended to Elizaveta, Alfred, and Arthur as well, with regards to their respective positions, and though at first Elizaveta was absolutely livid with Gilbert for not telling her about all this, she eventually calmed down enough to be happy and accept the job.

The headquarters of the new corporation would most likely be established in Paris, and Arthur had a little trouble swallowing this. In addition, Alfred wasn't sure that he wanted to be tied down to one studio in particular. So, after they had given much thought to the matter, they opted out of signing themselves away to a handful of contracts and instead chose to establish their relationship with the new corporation as the same sort of friendship they had always enjoyed amongst their own production team.

And in the end, this proved to be the perfect decision. For better or for worse, Antonio had Romano. For the time being, Elizaveta had Gilbert. Francis had his director's chair and his megaphone and the city he loved more than anything in the world. And Alfred had Arthur, and Arthur had Alfred, and together they had the warmth of each other's arms, no obligations, and the whole world stretched before them like a blank canvas, just waiting to be sculpted with words and filled in with the thick brushstrokes of talk and kisses and shouts and whispers and moans and laughter, all in the most brilliant colors imaginable.

DERP

I feel exceptionally stupid writing sentences like that.

OH WELL

If anyone is upset about Francis being alone, feel free to imagine him eventually hooking up with hipster!Matt. To be honest, I was planning on adding a little Franada to this story anyways, but...I got tired. :/

And that's all there is to be said for Keep Dreaming, America. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for coming along on the ride; it's been truly fantastic and I love you all.

A brief note regarding the future:

I am planning a USUK three-shot (for the canon) that could kinda sorta be perceived as a companion to this fic is you really really squinted. The similarities they share would be the post-modern day setting, wordplay as an underlying concept, and the theme of America's downfall as a world power. Basically, I want to go really in-depth with the whole idea of Alfred's collapse, therefore it should be chock full of such things as angst, comfort, historical references and flashbacks galore, etcetera.

(Also, I may recycle tiny bits of the dialogue from this fic)

(And I only just finished the rough plot, lololol)

(So expect a few oneshots – USUK and others - in between now and then)

Anyways.

Thank you again (so much), and I'll see you all next time around.

-worldaccordingtofangirls