Hello fellow Hetalians!

Well, it's finally here. The final chapter. It's been a long journey but we made it!

I want to thank everyone that followed/favorited and reviewed this story. You guys kept me going!

Alright, enjoy the end of Anger Management :)

Don't forget to review!

"I made the best decision, right?" Arthur asked. "I mean, he was going to leave eventually. It was best to be done with him before I actually started to feel something for that bloody Frog." The Brit walked over to his bed and face planted himself into his pillow. He rested there for a moment before looking up at his companion.

"He didn't really want to be with me," he said. "I mean, if he did, it wouldn't have been so easy for him to leave, right? It's been like two weeks and I haven't seen him once. This from a guy that wouldn't leave my side for days. Yea, I made the right choice," he nodded as the he sat up in his bed.

"But then why do I feel so horrible?" he continued. "Shit, do you think I actually had feelings for that prat? No, can't be possible! I won't allow it!"

"Dude, who are you talking to?" Alfred asked, staring at him from the doorway, causing the Briton to jump.

"Goddammit, Alfred, you could have bloody given me a heart attack!" he exclaimed.

"I'm sorry man," the American apologized, moving into the room. "But are you talking to your unicorn again?" he asked, picking up the plush mythical creature on the nightstand. Arthur grabbed the toy from his friend and held it close to his chest.

"So, what of it?"

"Bro, I know you're depressed about that French guy-"

"Francis," Arthur corrected. "And I'm not depressed, I'm completely over that baguette munching bastard."

"Good," Alfred nodded. "Because Michelle is so sad that you guys are fighting, that I feel like she's disappearing on us."

"Well, I don't want her to be upset," the Brit mumbled.

"Good, so you'll talk to Francis tomorrow?" Alfred decided, already leaving the room.

"What?"

"You and Francis are going to talk, hug, kiss, whatever it takes and get this ridiculous cold war over with."

"I will not!"

"Oh, yes you will," Alfred chuckled, smirking at his friend as if to say, you have no choice.

"It doesn't matter, even if I wanted to, which I don't, the Frog doesn't want to talk to me."

"Me and Michelle will take care of it, just make sure you and that accent of yours make it to the cafeteria at 8 AM tomorrow."

"It's Michelle and I," the Brit corrected.

"Whatever," Alfred waved, as he exited the room. "Just be there." Arthur rolled his eyes and turned to his plush unicorn.

"Whatever plan they have isn't going to work, that Frog is as stubborn as a mule," he said. He watched the unicorn for a moment and chuckled. "Right? And he has the nerve to think, I'm crazy."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~xxxxxxx~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey," Francis smiled lightly. Arthur watched him for a moment, not completely registering whom the French boy was talking to. He looked left, right and even behind him but could find no one else for miles so he turned back to Francis. When the cerulean orbs continue to rest on his face, the Brit looked around before pointing to himself.

"Me?" he asked.

"But of course," he smiled, taking a step forward. "Who else?" The Brit cursed his cheeks for reddening against his will.

"I thought you weren't talking to me anymore," the dirty blond remarked. The French teen smirked and move closer.

"While I agree that 'talking' is a useless way for me to utilize my lips, especially around you," he winked. "Why on earth would I ever stop talking to you, mon cher?"

"You said I was a waste of your time," the Brit repeated softly. Francis raised an eyebrow.

"Did I?"

"Yea, you said you were done with me." The Frenchman pondered these words for a second and then gave a bored wave.

"Well, what did you do to deserve it?"

"What? I did nothing! You're the bloody bastard who decided to give up on me!"

"Isn't that what you wanted? For me to leave you alone?"

"Yes! No! I don't know!"

"Well, I don't know either, mon coeur. You don't exactly send clear messages."

"What am I? A bloody mailman?"

"And there's the fact that you're always angry all the time."

"We met in Anger Management, don't you think that kind of says I have a problem dealing with my anger, you git!"

"Yea, but it's more than that," Francis seemed to realize, moving closer to the flustered Brit who only stepped back. "You seem to be angry at me all the time."

"What? Do you think your fucking special?" he spat. "I'm angry at everything!"

"Why? What do you have against the world?"

"Nothing! The world's wonderful!"

"So it's just me?"

"Of course it's me!"

"Wait, what?"

"I mean, it's you. Everything's your bloody fault!"

"Why?"

"Because-" Arthur stopped short and stared at Francis' expectant face. He searched for the right words as the French teen moved closer, now he was mere centimeters away from the Brit.

"Because?" the blond asked. Arthur sighed. He couldn't do this anymore.

"Because, I-"

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Arthur shot out of bed at the sound of his he realized where he was, he groaned and flopped back onto his pillow.

"Oh no you don't," Alfred decided, barging into the room. "Get out of bed."

"Why don't you piss off?" the Brit mumbled into his pillow.

"You see, I'm going to forgive you for that," laughed the American, picking up the English teen out of his bed. "Just because you might possibly get your heart crushed all over again today but you better cheer up before my patience runs okay?"

"Put me down," mumbled the dirty blond.

"Gladly," Alfred claimed and he did, after bringing the Brit to the bathroom and placing him in the bath tub. "Hurry and bath up, Iggy" the American ordered. "You smell worse than that cheese your boyfriend likes."

"He's not," Arthur began but his roommate was already gone. "My boyfriend," he sighed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~xxxxxxxxxx~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur fixed his bowtie for the fifteenth time. Okay, this isn't so bad, he acknowledged as he waited for Francis to show up to the cafe that Michelle and Alfred picked out. All I have to do is sit here, he accepted. No yelling, no screaming, no fighting. Just sit here and listen to what Francis has to say. Before the Brit had a chance to repeat his rules again in his head, the French teen showed up and silently sat down. The two stared at each other in silence.

"Um, hi," Arthur offered.

"No," Francis replied, shaking his head.

"No?" asked the Brit. "What the bloody hell do you mean by that?"

"I'm not going to have a pointless conversation with you about the weather or this cafe's terrible food."

"Terrible food? I eat here all the time."

"Exactly."

"What the hell is your problem you self righteous wanker?"

"No," Francis said again, shaking his head once more.

"What?"

"I'm not here to argue with you."

"Then why are you here?"

"Michelle asked me to come here," the blond said simply. "I'm here for her."

"If you're here for her don't you think you should make the effort to at least try to talk to me?"

"No," the Frenchman claimed.

"If you say 'no' one more fucking time, I'm going to make you eat one of this place's chicken pot pies." Francis looked at Arthur before looking around at the restaurant with a contemplative expression. He seemed to think over the Brit's threat for a minute before resting his eyes back on the Englishman.

"No."

"That's it! I'm leaving!" Arthur claimed, getting up.

"No."

"No?" questioned Arthur indignantly. "I'm leaving and there's nothing you can fucking do to stop me!" Francis simply stared at the hot headed Brit. Arthur pushed his chair back in and with one last look at the French teen, he walked away. He kept walking until he turned the corner and was out of the other teens sight. He hid behind the corner and watched the table he was previously sitting at. Francis continued to sit there, gazing forward. What is he doing? Arthur thought to himself. Then he noticed the blond teen pulling out a cellphone and began to text. He's texting? At a time like this? I literally just left him, how can he just continue with his life? Arthur watched him for a little bit until he noticed that Francis was now talking to someone on the phone. Wait...the Brit realized. What if he's talking to Alfred? What if he's telling the bloody Yank that I bailed on the meeting? That brut would tear off my head and use it to play that stupid version of football that he loves so much. Immediately, Arthur ran back to the table and grabbed Francis' phone from his hand.

"Alfred? Don't believe anything the frog told you," he said quickly into the phone. "I simply went to the bathroom. I'm here."

"Sorry cupcake," laughed a voice from the phone. "This isn't Alfred. It's someone much awesomer."

"Gilbert?" questioned Arthur.

"You got that right, eyebrows," the German responded. "Now enjoy your date," he teased right before hanging up. The Brit looked at the phone in his hand before looking at Francis, who simply sat in seat without any kind of expression on his face.

"Um," the Englishman chuckled nervously as he sat down and handed the French teen his phone back. "Sorry about that."

"Yea," Francis said curtly.

"I guess I can be a little paranoid."

"Yea."

"I just thought you might have been talking to Alfred."

"Yea."

"Can you please stop saying 'yea'?"

"No."

"Okay, that's it," Arthur said angrily as he stood up. "What do you want me to say? Huh?" Francis simply blinked at him. "Do you want me to say I'm sorry?" he demanded. "Fine! Everyone," he called out to the other patrons of the café. "I would like you all to witness me, Arthur Kirkland, apologize to this guy, Francis Bonnefoy," he declared pointing to Francis. "Ahem," he began. "Okay. I'm sorry, alright? For everything. Ever since we started going to Anger Management, I feel like every time I talk to you, I walk away owing you some sort of apology. I'm sorry that I constantly push you away, sorry that I act like you shouldn't be taken seriously. I'm sorry that even when you're being nothing but nice, I have to find away to poison it some how. Sorry that one minute we're friendly and then the next I act like you're the worse thing to walk this planet! Sorry that I know what words will hurt you and yet I chose to say them anyway! Sorry that I'm angry at you all the time when I know you've done nothing wrong! Sorry that I like the way you make me feel but I'm practically incapable of expressing it! Are you happy now? I'm sorry!" the Brit yelled. The entire café had come to halt to watch the English teen scream his head off. Now that he was done, they simply all sat there, cups and forks half raised to their mouths, expressions frozen on their faces. Even the waiters had stopped in their tracks but Arthur didn't care about any of them. The only reaction he was focused on was the one of the French boy that was sitting across from him. Francis had managed not to show any emotion throughout Arthur's entire rant but when it was over he took a deep breath.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why what?" the Brit shot back.

"Why do you do all these things to me?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"I want you to say it."

"In front of everyone," Arthur whispered, sitting back down. "Wouldn't that be a bit dramatic?"

"I don't think so," Francis shrugged.

"Yea, of course you wouldn't," the Brit snapped. "Where you're from everyone declares love everyday like it's some sort of bloody requirement."

"Love?"

"Well, maybe not love," the English teen admitted. "But," he began returning to his normal voice. "I do really like you."

"See?" smiled Francis. "Now was that so hard?" Arthur rolled his eyes but blushed slightly.

"I guess not," he claimed. "And if you would give me another chance, I promise I'll change. I'll be nicer and won't yell and-"

"That's not what I want," the French teen explained.

"What?"

"Although I wouldn't mind you being nicer, I don't want you to change everything about yourself," Francis claimed.

"You don't?"

"No silly," he laughed. "I like you. The guy who's passionate about everything and stands up for what he believes in, even when it's over something trivial like his eyebrow width."

"Hey," the Brit whined silently, causing Francis to smile as he continued.

"The guy who starts to pick up pencils on the floor because he's nervous. The guy who claims that he acts all irrational and paranoid because I have that effect on him," the French teen paused to grab Arthur's hand that sat on the table. "But seems to have no idea of the effect he has on me." As the blond teen finished speaking, Arthur could hear his heart beat so loudly that he was afraid it might deafen him. He honestly couldn't believe what Francis was saying or how he said it.

"Did you have that written down or something?" he asked and Francis looked confused.

"No," he said slowly. "It came from my heart."

"You see?" Arthur said. "That's what I'm talking about! Who just comes up with that kind of stuff?"

"It's a gift," chuckled Francis.

"Well, it's unnerving to me."

"Really? Why?"

"Well, even though it sounds romantic," the Brit explained, a little hesitantly. "I can't help but feel like it sounds fake. You know, shallow."

"Interesting," nodded Francis. Interesting how? thought Arthur. Oh god, he hates me now. I knew I should have kept my mouth shut. "I guess I could see that," the blond shrugged.

"Seriously?"

"Sure," Francis conceded. "Even though I know my words are true, coming on so strongly with words that seem to be sculpted by Adam de la Halle or Alexandre Soumet could provide a sense of deceit, I suppose."

"Right, wait who's Adam de, um, what you said?"

"Adam de la Halle and Alexandre Soumet were French poets."

"Like William Shakespeare?"

"Yes."

"Cool," Arthur nodded. "So are we good?"

"Well that depends," Francis shrugged.

"On what?"

"What do you want to do about us?" the French teen asked. Arthur looked at him for a moment before looking down at the table at their interlocking hands. He smiled as he gave Francis' hand a slight squeeze.

"I want to go for it," he claimed. "I want to be with you."

"Magnifique," grinned the blond.

As they got up from the table, Francis pulled Arthur in close to him. While the French teen let go of his hand so he could wrap both around his waist, Arthur felt a rush of heat build up through his chest and move throughout his whole body. He focused his attention on Francis' deep blue eyes and noticed that the blond was staring right back into his sea green ones. Francis leaned forward, his grip on Arthur's waist tightening ever so slightly right before gently placing his lips on the Brit's. Arthur could feel his whole body react as Francis' lips moved his softly on his. Arthur enjoyed the sensation so much that he applied a little force as he kissed the teen back so Francis knew he wasn't backing down. Arthur felt like he could feel Francis smile as the French teen parted his lips slightly, granting the Brit more access. The English teen practically jumped at the chance to deepen the kiss and as his tongue slipped into Francis' mouth, he could have sworn that he heard the other teen moan. Arthur didn't want to pull away but he needed to breath so after a few more seconds, he backed off.

"Wow," smiled Francis as Arthur took some deep breaths. "We definitely need to do that more often." Arthur simply smirked as the French teen took his hand before they started walking back to campus.

"So hopefully, Anger Management class won't be as hectic as it was before," smiled Francis.

"I guess so," Arthur agreed. "Well unless, you and your friends don't start anything."

"Me and my friends?" he asked. "What are you talking about? We're model citizens."

"Sure," the Brit nodded sarcastically. "That Gilbert is a real peach."

"Oh he just likes to have fun."

"Right."

"It's true."

"And all the bickering between Lovino and Antonio?"

"Lover's quarrel," Francis asserted. "Trust me, you don't have to worry about them."

"Wait," Arthur paused. "If you don't think that your friends caused any of the problems. Do you think everything was my fault?"

"Well of course not!"

"Good."

"Just 99% of the problems."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, but it's all forgiven now. That was in the past, it is forgotten." Arthur scowled at Francis for a second before thinking over the past couple of weeks. There's no way I started every argument in that class, he thought. As he started to go over everything that had happened, something came to the fore front of his mind.

"What about Bella?" he wondered out loud.

"Hmmm?" asked the French teen. "What about her?"

"I mean, who's going to tell her about us?" the Brit clarified. "Because when she finds out, she's going to kill me, at least twice."

"Don't worry about her," chuckled Francis, squeezing Arthur's hand. "I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure?"

"Oui, mon cher," he insisted. "But if you're really worried, I'm sure you could offer her a homemade scone or something," he teased. "That could do her in for good."

"What did you say?"

A/N: And that's all folks! Thanks for sticking with me for this long, you've all been great :)