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Chapter 8

Arthur's POV

Why has it taken so long for things to change? If he'd said these things to me a few months ago, I'd kiss him then and there, but things have changed for me. I'd gotten so tired of feeling like the bad guy because of him that I just gave up on my feelings for him. Now that he's decided to be nice, my world is so confusing.

"Mr. Kirkland, are you okay?" 

I snap out of my daydreaming state and shake my head. "I'm fine, Elizabeta," I return, patting the Hungarian student's shoulder. She frowns but leaves me alone anyway. She's a sweet girl, unless you threaten her or mistreat her. She runs off to her boyfriend, Roderich, a rather snooty fellow from Austria. He's a talented piano player, though, so I have to give him some credit.

"They're noticing your conflicted feelings, mon ami," Francis says, and I jump at the realization that he's behind me. When the hell did he get here?

"What do you want, you bloody frog," I return bitterly. I'm so crabby today. It's a little ridiculous, but I can't help it. Not only do I have all this new drama going on, but I couldn't sleep last night. I'm running on about three hours of rest, and I'm not sure how I'm managing.

The Frenchman takes my comment in stride, flipping a long lock of his stylishly done blonde hair over his shoulder dramatically. "You're so cruel today, Angelterre," he tells me, pouting as if he's trying to be cute. Frankly, it makes him look a little ridiculous.

"I didn't sleep that much last night," I return with a shrug. I'm so questionable for trusting him with information like this.

"Ah, you were thinking about Alfred, no?" he asks, probably already knowing the answer. I want to flick those wiggling eyebrows of his in frustration.

"Oh, shut it," I say with a grunt. "It'd be weird if I didn't thnk about what happened."

The Frenchman laughs mockingly at me. Why am I friends with someone that's so condescending? "You love him," he states, looking proud of me. 

"I used to," I return, sipping at my mug of tea. "I don't love him anymore." I sigh, looking into the murky liquid of my cup as I spin it around lazily. "At least, I don't think I do."

Francis sighs before leaning back in his chair, propping his feet upon my desk. I kick them off directly afterwards. I hate when he does that. It's not classy at all. He rolls his eyes at the action but manages to shrug them off.

"Why not try dating him?" he says with a shrug. "It's clear that you have at least some semblance of feelings for him."

"It's not that simple," I mutter, glancing around as the students that have arrive early set everything up for me. I think they use the chore as a reason to get out of class early. Lord knows that I'd do it if I were younger. "I need to know that I can trust him. I won't risk getting my heart broken over this," I state, giving Francis a pointed look.

"You're not very trusting, are you?" he returns with a snort.

"Not really." I give a smirk that he returns without difficulty.

After a few minutes of silence, the door to the auditorium opens quietly, and I look back to see who it is. Alfred's arrived...

And he brought flowers?

Clutched in the American's hand is a small bouqet of various flowers. He makes his way over to Francis and me, handing me the flowers. 

"Thank you," I murmur, blushing as he beams proudly.

"They have meaning," he tells me, smiling even further, if that were even possible. He points to a Hyacinth. "Sincerity." He points to another. "Hydrangea: perseverance."  He strokes another gently, as if it'll fall apart. "Larkspur: beautiful spirit." Finally, he points to a Lilac. "First love," he finishes, grinning at me.