Chapter 8

Alfred didn't speak a word to Arthur for the rest of the week.

Arthur hadn't pushed it. What he had said to Alfred – that things could always be worse, that he didn't have it that bad – was the truth. He wasn't backing down on that.

However, he did recognize that he had made an error in his judgment, or lack thereof.

But if Alfred wanted to brood over it and ignore Arthur, that was his decision. He wasn't going to push boundaries for a fleeting attempt at friendship. There was no point in trying to become closer to someone if they didn't want your company, anyway.

Arthur might or might not have seen Alfred at Nine Lives, but if he had been around, he didn't stay for the after party. Arthur was fairly certain their time interacting – and, consequently, their friendship – was at an end.

Until he woke up with a message from an unknown number.

From: Unknown

Yo! This is Alfred. What're you up to?

Arthur blinked at the text sleepily, listening to see if his mother was awake before texting him back.

To: Unknown

How the bloody hell did you get my number.

It took Alfred a few minutes to respond. Arthur yawned and stretched out on his bed, blinking at the brightness of his little screen in the dark room.

From: Alfred

It's magic ;) Can't tell ya!

Arthur frowned. He could have had another fifteen minutes of sleep before he had to get ready for school, but instead, he was texting someone who had given him the silent treatment all week and was currently acting like nothing had happened.

To: Alfred

Alfred, you will tell me how you got my number or I'm blocking you.

.

From: Alfred

NOOO no no nonononono don't do that! D8 Dude, okay, the Frenchie gave it to me! Don't block my number!

Arthur frowned. Francis was giving out his number? Bloody frog.

To: Alfred

There, that wasn't so hard. And to answer your earlier question, you woke me up, so I'm not quite 'up to' anything.

He listened closely again before he pulled the covers up over his head and the phone, hiding the light.

From: Alfred

Cool! Want to hang out after school today? :)

Arthur paused, confused. He had no idea why Alfred was suddenly so friendly. Was it a trap, disguised as a simple meeting after school? Was Alfred going to try to get his teammates to gang up on him for insulting him earlier?

The notion itself seemed ridiculous, but Arthur had reason to be suspicious. People didn't just get better after a week of dwelling on something bad. Not really.

And they certainly didn't act as if nothing had happened before.

Hesitantly, Arthur typed out his response.

To: Alfred

What brought this on?

.

From: Alfred

Can't I just ask to hang out with my good pal Artie? ;)

.

To: Alfred

You haven't said a word to me all week.

.

From: Alfred

Awwww, come onnnnn…you know you wanna say yes :)

.

To: Alfred

Not particularly.

.

From: Alfred

Dude, I just wanna say hello to my new friend! I didn't get to see you at Nine Lives, so… Maybe I'll treat you to tea or whatever you Brits like to do. What do you say?

Arthur stood, dropping his phone down on his bed as he walked over to his closet. He wasn't used to hanging out, especially with other people, and it was exceptional that this person who actually asked him to hang out was actually an established friend, even if barely so. He wasn't quite certain what he was going to tell his mum – hopefully, he wouldn't have to say anything. She worked all day and late into the night, so he should be fine if he got home at a decent hour.

He picked up the phone again in between getting his clothes on, shooting Alfred a text.

To: Alfred

…I don't see why not.

He got dressed in his school clothes, then sat back on his bed again, texting Alfred a little more. The American asked briefly about his band, and how their performance went on Friday (he hadn't been able to come because his father was yelling at him again) and if Arthur's week had been fine.

The Englishman replied that the performance had done well, he was truly sorry about Alfred's parental-related issues, and that his week had been typical. His responses were nothing special, but they seemed to excite the American (as much as he could tell through a mobile device) and Alfred only got increasingly more stoked to be hanging out with Arthur after school today.

They continued texting each other for some time, and soon enough, Arthur lost track of time. When he finally glanced up at the time, he dropped his phone in shock and ran to scoop up his things. He didn't want to be late; he couldn't be late. In a frantic rush, he slung his torn rucksack over his shoulder and hurried outside, just barely managing to catch the bus.

…

"Oi, frog!"

Francis turned around and smiled cheekily at Arthur upon hearing his voice. He had a shorter woman under his arm, but he turned to her and told her to go ahead without him as he faced Arthur calmly. "Oui, Sourcils? What can I do to help you?"

"Cut the shit, Frenchman," Arthur hissed under his breath. At Francis's amused expression, he glared harder.

"I haven't the slightest idea what's gotten you in such a bad mood today, Arthur." His voice was frustratingly light, like he was almost trying to sing. "I can't tease you about it if you don't tell me."

"You went and gave Alfred my bloody number, that's what! What the hell did you do that for?!"

Francis clicked his tongue, clearly enjoying seeing Arthur so riled up. "It's a little number, mon ami, not your address or your social security. What's the problem?"

Crossing his arms, Arthur leveled a glare up at the Frenchman, cursing inwardly how short he was. Francis gave him a lazy smile, and put a hand on his hip as he regarded the Briton.

"You…didn't have my permission."

Well, that was a weak excuse.

Francis seemed to think so, too, snickering at the response. "My apologizes. But really, you need more friends. I thought I was doing you a favor!"

Huffing indignantly, Arthur jabbed Francis's chest with a finger. "I have plenty of friends, frog, and I don't need you giving out my number! I'll talk to these people if I want to!"

Francis shrugged, a sly smirk on his face.

"You don't regret it at all, do you," Arthur commented dryly. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "He woke me up this morning and asked me to hang out with him."

Francis looked up at Arthur with surprised blue eyes. "Is that so?" he asked, wearing an expression that didn't seem to support nor oppose the idea.

Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly. "Yes," he answered hesitantly, "Alfred asked to hang out after school today."

Francis seemed to falter for a second before he slowly smiled, and slung an arm over Arthur's shoulders. "Is it a date?" he asked, looking up at Arthur teasingly.

He hated the feeling of a blush creeping up his cheeks. He hated the look Francis gave him more.

"It is not a date, Francis, and you'd better not tell anyone otherwise! He probably just wants to clear up our little…mishap, earlier." He shrugged. "Or find an excuse to eat."

"I don't think you're giving him enough credit, Arthur! He's obviously interested in you." Francis started walking to his next class nonchalantly, as if the idea was simple news.

Arthur, however, was incredibly confused.

"W-Wait, no, he isn't! What gave you that idea?!" Arthur sped up to walk beside the Frenchman, feeling a little flustered. Francis just looked back at him knowingly.

"Just trust me, mon ami. I have a very good eye for these things."

Arthur stopped following him, watching as he walked away.

There was no way Alfred liked him. People never liked him. Alfred was just now getting over being incredibly angry at him actually, and they'd only talked a few times. People don't just like other people like that. These kinds of things took time, didn't they?

That's right.

Francis was simply being silly again. He was trying to get ideas into Arthur's head, but he wasn't going to allow it.

Besides, it's not like the feeling would ever be reciprocated, anyway.

Nope. Arthur Kirkland was not interested in anyone, and he had no plans for that to change anytime soon.

…

Arthur was sitting with the rest of the band at lunch, eating away slowly at his sandwich as Antonio and Gilbert argued over what the word "awesome" truly meant, and how Gilbert's extensive use of said word ended up ruining the effect. Francis stayed out of it for the most part, and started texting someone on his phone, presumably the girl from earlier.

When Arthur finished eating, he reached for his pocket to see if Alfred had texted (not that he actually cared, of course – he was simply bored) but paused as soon as his hand touched his pocket.

Where was his phone?

A little frantic, Arthur fished through his pockets first, then put his rucksack on the table and started fishing through that, as well. Francis looked over at him, curious.

"Is something missing, mon cher?"

"I'm not your cher," Arthur protested distractedly. "And yes, I can't find my phone…"

"Did you check your pockets?"

Arthur glared at him. "No, I obviously decided I would dump out my entire rucksack before looking where I always put it."

Francis held up his hands in mock defense. "Alright, alright. Where else could it have gone?"

Arthur thought back. There was always the chance he'd lost it at school, but he was a very organized person, so that was unlikely. It could have been stolen, but he kept his distance from most everyone, so that was also unlikely. Or, it could still be at his-

"…It's at my house."

Francis gave him a worried look.

"It's at my house," Arthur repeated again lamely. "Probably on my bed."

Francis rubbed his back softly. "Your mother will not see it, will she?"

Arthur ran his hand through his hair, anxious. "I don't think so. And as long as she doesn't look through the messages, everything should be okay…"

The Frenchman nodded, but he seemed about as concerned as Arthur felt.

Thankfully, his mother worked from the middle of the day to late at night, so there was little chance she'd actually see his phone, and even less of a chance she's look into it. Still, a part of him couldn't help but worry.

"Everything will be alright, mon cher."

If only Arthur knew that would be true.

…

Arthur rushed home that day. He had told Francis to pass on the message to Alfred that he would not be able to spend time after school today, and that he apologized. He wasn't sure how Alfred would take the news – it didn't particularly matter all that much in the grand scheme of it all.

Especially not if his mother saw his phone.

Arthur unlocked his door and sprinted to his room, then began quickly throwing his blankets off of his bed and searching frantically for his cell phone.

He froze when he heard a voice from his doorway.

"So, my little troublemaker has come back at last."

Big things are coming soon.

By the way, I've officially decided that, when I end (Not) So Perfect - something which wouldn't happen for a while yet - I will write a shorter story from Francis's point of view. I really want to explore his character more.

Reviews are always treasured!

Hetalia does not belong to me.