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“Bloody hell! What is this mess?!” The only thing you could see through the foggy window was a fuming blond head looking at a broken furniture item. This was pretty normal. You neighbor Arthur’s cousin Alfred came over every week for “some awesome family bonding time, dude!”

To you, it seemed more stress-inducing than awesome.

Which is why, on this early Sunday morning, you were trudging through the wet mud to the Kirkland residence to try to save Alfred’s life. Pleasant morning, eh?

After ringing the doorbell, you found yourself pushed backwards by a door slammed into your face.

“What is it now? Get OUT, you bloody wankers!” said your irate host.

“More like bloody nose,” you muttered as two men and… a polar bear… skipped outside. Well, the polar bear was being held up. By something invisible. Whatever. Arthur turned toward you in his glorious fury, but then softened at the sight of your injured nose. Then he went all tsundere again.

“Ehm, watch where you’re going, ______,” he said forcefully.

“Thanks for being concerned about my safety,” you murmured.

You earned a full-blown glare from that one. Then a crimson drop fell on your foot.

Jerkland sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to help you, won’t I?”

“If you want,” you said quietly, snickering inwardly.

Oh how you would torment this man…

“Well? What are you waiting for?” grumbled the spiky haired Brit. Then he shoved you inside without waiting for a response.

You took a seat on the nearest furniture item, which happened to be a coffee table. Correction: “tea table.” He never has coffee. Like ever. As you stared up at the ceiling, daydreaming about delicious coffee, you heard someone clear his throat.

“It would help if I could actually see your bloody nose, ______.”

Suddenly, a brilliant idea came to you: dumb questions time!

“Hey Kirkie! Why do you say ‘bloody’ all the time?”

Your neighbor stared at you in confusion.

“What? Because your nose is bleeding, idiot.”

“No, no! I mean like when you say ‘bloody wanker’ and stuff,” you replied, maintaining your innocent face.

The Brit sniffed, thinking your question infantile. “That’s my language, wanker.”

“Oh really? Then why doesn’t Alfred speak like that?” you asked delicately, preparing yourself for the inevitable explosion.

“BLOODY AMERICAN ENGLISH IS DIFFERENT FROM MY ENGLISH YOU BLOODY WANKER! DON’T EVEN THINK OF PUTTING MY LANGUAGE IN THE SAME GROUPING AS HIS!”

“Huh, seriously? I never knew that. But aren’t you guys related?”

Arthur stormed out of the room in frustration and muttered something about going outside. You started laughing quietly, then quickly got up and strutted to the bathroom after giving your now-healed nose a final prod with a tissue.

I’m using soap so productively, you thought wryly, as you began squirting it onto your hands and blowing bubbles out the window through your entangled fingers. You could see your grumpy neighbor passing obliviously right under his window, and prayed that your secret weapons would be carried by the wind to their target.

They were.

In a matter of minutes you were being held up by the collar by a screaming blond.

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT ABOUT, ______! YOU NEARLY GOT SOAP INTO MY BLOODY EYE! I don’t think I’ll ever understand why I–” he suddenly stopped short.

“Why you what?” you asked curiously.

“…”

“Well?” you raised an eyebrow.

His face became guarded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, ______.”

“Huh? But it’s 10 o’clock in the morning!”

Huffing, he stormed off to his terrifying kitchen.

Thoroughly confused, you put down his soap bottle and walked worriedly home. Why was he acting like that? What you did wasn’t that bad, right? It must have had to do with what he had been about to say earlier.

But what could it be?

Pushing back the thought, along with your sweaty hair, you continued the long journey home when you heard yelling behind you. Turning around, you saw Arthur running up to you with… the soap bottle.

He stopped in front of you, gasping for air.

“Well someone’s out of shape,” you smirked, “What’s the hurry? I live right here, in case you didn’t know.”

He glared at you for a quick second, but then turned as red as one of Antonio’s tomatoes.

“Flying Mint Bunny told me to finish telling you what I was saying before,” he explained.

Did I mention that he’s bad at explanations?

“Flying WHAT Bunny?” You were baffled.

“Not important. Or rather, very important. Well, not to this situation–” he rambled.

“Are you okay?” you asked with concern, “Did the soap give you brain damage?”

He gritted his teeth, and then turned redder if possible. You made a mental note to crop his face into a picture of Toni’s garden, and then save it as blackmail.

“The truth is… well, you should know that I don’t not like you.”

“… I know that. I’m way too adorable to dislike,” you giggled.

“Erm, in English, a double negative in a sentence becomes a positive, if you get what I mean.”

“Oh, so ‘don’t not’ becomes do!” you concluded.

“… Yes.”

“Uh, so were you trying to teach me grammar? Because that’s cool and all, but I’d rather be a stunt pilot than teach English to fourth graders.”

“Bloody hell, I’m trying to tell you that I like you!”

You were shocked into standing still for what felt like a good minute.

I know, impressive. One whole minute.

Your friend turned away shyly. “I-I’ll understand if you don’t feel–”

“WAHOO! YEAH! I KNEW IT!” you cheered.

His eye twitched. “If you knew, then why didn’t you tell me?”

You smirked, holding up your phone.

“To get a picture of your face! It’s so cute when it’s red! Don’t worry, though, I already sent it to everyone.”

Eye twitch.

Then before you could react, you were pulled into a hug and were kissed.

The only things you could think were, This smells like soap and This is a pretty sweaty hug. The only thing you could feel, however, was pure happiness.

This, of course, was interrupted.

“Hey dudes, look! Arthur and ______ are totally into each other!”