American Beauty, American Psycho

American Beauty

Hey, all! I know a lot of you are expecting a Remembrance Day special in my Depressed Hetalia story, but the problem is, I've kind of got writers block with that story. I'm absolutely out of ideas for Remembrance Day. I'm so sorry! So to compensate, here's a third chapter of a book you've all been waiting so patiently on (thanks again for your patience). And just because I can't think of a story for Remembrance Day doesn't mean it isn't in my heart; everyone have a wonderful, respectful day. To anyone who's served, or knows someone who's served, or is related to someone who's served, or has had to say goodbye to someone who's served, lest we forget. Your services will never be forgotten. Thank you.
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Alfred sat at the breakfast table, eating oddly slowly. His guards were staring him down around the table, and he could feel their eyes boring into him.
"So, sir, you...got up to use the bathroom and went to flick on the lights..." One guard began. Alfred started to sweat.
"But you missed the light switch and hit your panic button, which is on a separate wall from the switch?" Another guard said. Alfred nodded and swallowed a bit.
"And in doing all of this, you...you...got an erection?" Another guard asked, raising his eyebrow skeptically. Alfred felt sweat pouring down from his face as he nodded again. The guards stared at him until Alfred opened his mouth, ready to tell them the truth; but as he did, their bell rang and they all stood up and walked out to take their outdoor shifts. Alfred sighed heavily with relief, his mind still on the beautiful face of his intruder. A smile spread across his face as he leaned his arm on the table, but paused — in his lovestruck state, he'd put his arm in his cereal bowl.
Groaning, he stood up and shuffled to get a towel.
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Allen fell asleep at his breakfast table with his face down in his grilled cheese. He'd gotten little to no sleep last night after leaving Alfred's house, because he'd been thinking long and hard about...everything that'd happened. Allen groaned softly and lifted his head up, staring down at his squished grilled cheese. That guy's eyes...matched my own. I felt something last night when I looked at them...that I've never felt before, he thought. He threw his breakfast in the garbage and went to make himself a new sandwich instead. Something about him made me feel...better? Better about everything? I dunno. Allen grumbled, still hating everything that was unknown to him. Why the fuck couldn't I think of simple pickup lines? I've used that stuff a thousand times. Why did I hit a wall with him? Allen clenched his fists. He was always so smooth with...anyone. Girls, guys, and everything in between. But why was he so...bad with Alfred? He frowned a little. And...did...did Alfred...have an erection?
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Alfred lay in his bed, playing with his thumbs. Allen was hot. Allen was dangerous. And Allen made Alfred feel...better. About...everything. But Alfred's guards couldn't know that Alfred was letting a mystery intruder with a nail-bat into his bedroom every night. He had to keep Allen a secret.
Alfred gushed at the thought; his secret admirer. His secret...love? That's what it was. Alfred blushed harder. It was forbidden love, something Alfred thought he'd never had to deal with...and now he knew why; forbidden love was addictive. He was already hooked. He needed to see Allen again. Determinedly, he called off his guards, pulled on his clothes, and set out into the city.
When he got to Allen's apartment, things didn't add up right. The street he lived on was so grungy! There was a man in an alley tying his arm up with a rope, a shady looking girl in a coat too big for her spinning a knife in her fingers and leaning against a building, and another man staring at Alfred out a window with an eerie gaze. Alfred hurried quickly along the sidewalk; he felt so exposed without his guards. He quickly raced up the steps of the apartment that Google had said Allen lived at (no, he was absolutely, positively, not a stalker). When he got to the door, there was a blond guy with his hair in a ponytail banging on the door.
"Al! Open up, dipshit!" The guy yelled. His accent sounded...different...but Alfred couldn't place it.
"Uh...hey." Alfred muttered. "This Allen's apartment?" He tried to act cool, but he was freaked out.
"Wha? Yeah, this is where he—waiiit a minute," the blond guy squinted at Alfred. "You're the rich asshole we tried to mug the other night." He growled. "You guys think you're the shit, Dontcha?"
"What? I...no..." Alfred paused. Allen had only came to his house to mug him? Does that mean..Allen had only came to see him last night so he could...finish the job? Alfred's confused look turned into a glare. "No, I don't." Rage barreled through him. He felt his eyes tearing up, but he refused to back down. "I know I'm not the shit, I'm actually kind of an idiot. But I'd never stoop as low as you guys." He said through clenched teeth. And all this time, he'd thought he'd found someone he could relate with; someone to love him, someone he could cherish. But no, he'd just found a beautiful stranger in the wrong place at the wrong time. He turned on his heel, then stomped out of the apartment as fast as he could.