Emergency Call

Francis could appreciate many things in life: good food, good wine, and the cute little Canadian lying next to him in bed. But if there was one thing he did not appreciate, it was getting woken up by an unexpected phone call at five-thirty in the morning – far too early to wake up, let alone have a conversation. Worse still, the phone rang insistently; there was no ignoring it. After groping around his bedstand in the dark for a minute, he found the telephone and snatched it up.

"This better be important," he growled into the receiver. "Because if it isn't, so help me God, I'll - "

"Francis, it's me, Arthur."

The Frenchman heaved a long-suffering sigh and collapsed back into the mattress. He felt Matthew shift beside him. "What is it, Sourcils?"

"It's – I have – I don't know what to do," he whispered.

Francis rolled his eyes. "Do tell. I love nothing more than listening to your problems at - " He glanced at the glowing red numbers of his digital alarm clock. "Five-thirty-five in the morning."

"Shut up, Frog. I'm running out of time here."

At that moment, the Canadian sat up a little next to his lover, rubbing his eyes. "Mm, Francis, what is it?"

"Ce n'est rien, Mathieu. Go back to sleep." He stroked a hand through the blond boy's hair before turning back to the phone. Matthew shrugged and rolled over.

There was a pause. Then, "Matthew?" Arthur asked incredulously. 'Wait, what are you doing there? Francis didn't rape you, did he? I can call the police for you if you want, Matthew, there's no need to suffer in silence - "

"What is the emergency?" Francis cut in. "Did someone finally die from eating your terrible cooking?"

Arthur flushed bright red on the other end, hiding his face behind the black box of the payphone. "No!" Matthew had already left his mind. "I'm stuck outside the library, and - " His voice lowered. "And I need your advice."

"Moi, Sourcils? I am flattered." Francis flipped his silky hair back. "What is so urgent that you need my advice?"

"Don't let your ego grow as fat as your head. You're just the first person I could think of. The thing is, I need a book in the library, but he's there."

Francis vaguely wondered what kind of person needed to be in the library so early in the morning. He didn't even know that the library was open at that hour.

"Who?" he asked.

"You know," the other mumbled. "That tosser, the stupid annoying American."

Francis could've laughed, but he didn't want to disturb his sleeping boyfriend. "Is that it? Afraid of the big bad Alfred?"

The Brit scoffed. "N-no! It's just that – well - " He felt the heat rising up in his face again, and held tighter to the payphone with his clammy palm. "He keeps – um . . . "

"He keeps what?" Francis picked at a fingernail, a little smirk on his face. He was actually beginning to enjoy this conversation, despite its unfortunate timing.

"W-well . . . " He drew away from the payphone to glance through the window of the library doors. "I think he keeps trying to hit on me."

Arthur kneaded one of his temples and waited for Francis' reaction. If he craned his neck far enough from where he stood, out of sight from the library, he could just see the source of his problems, sitting at one of the long wooden tables, reading a book about airplanes. He looked innocent enough, but Arthur knew better. That American was out to seduce him, by God, and he didn't like it. Not at all. Not even a tiny bit.

He first went to the library about thirty minutes ago, as soon as it opened to the students. Arthur had a major psychology exam in the morning, and he wanted to study as much as possible; after his breakfast of tea and (store-bought) crumpets, he rushed to the library, intending to read a few books and check his notes in peace and quiet, making the most efficient possible use of his time.

That, he found out, was a pipe dream as soon as Alfred came in and decided to sit at his table.

The American had plopped down across from him, plunking his coffee cup down on the table, resting his elbows on the wood. He stared at Arthur and tapped his fingers nonstop. When even his breathing got a little too loud, the Brit finally looked up from his book on mental disorders to send him his best death glare.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

Alfred just smiled, oblivious to the rude treatment. "Hiya!" he said, waving.

Arthur remembered raising an eyebrow at his horribly handsome face, feeling a light blush dusting his cheeks. "Hello," he said. Well, he didn't really want to talk to him, of course not, brushing up on his knowledge of the causes of schizophrenia was much more interesting. He decided he would just afford Alfred the bare minimum of courtesy, like he always did, as long as he didn't bother him too much. Yes, that was the plan.

Plans always seemed to go straight out the window where Alfred was concerned, though.

The Brit turned back to his book, studying a picture of a brain scan. Alfred had miraculously fallen quiet, sipping his coffee, and Arthur found himself pleased – yet strangely disappointed – that he could focus on his task. He had just finished reading the section on environmental factors related to schizophrenia, however, when he felt his concentration jolted. A foot was rubbing against his leg.

"You git," he hissed. Arthur kicked the American's foot away, and he looked at him innocently, hands clasped together on the table. "What the fuck are you doing!?" So much for being polite.

"Nothing," Alfred replied. "Why so uptight? It's not healthy to raise your blood pressure so early in the morning, Iggy."

'Iggy' rolled his eyes. "Why are you even here?"

The blue-eyed one smirked and leaned back in his chair. "I dunno. Why are you here?"

Arthur sighed, snapping his book shut. He wasn't going to get any work done, sitting here. "I'm taking a very important examination in a few hours. Unlike you, I value an education. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to study." Arthur got up and walked away, towards another table. Alfred followed him.

"Nobody's here~" he sang. "Just you and me, Iggy. We can be as loud as we want."

Arthur turned around and regretted it immediately. The American was leaning against a bookshelf with a suggestive pose, winking at him.

"Y-you're disgusting," he said, blushing to the tips of his ears. He dropped into a chair at a new table, in a different section of the library. "Please, leave me alone."

Alfred sat next to him. "That's so not cool. You should be happy that I like you."

The green-eyed Brit cracked open his textbook, willing himself to avoid eye contact. "Some of us actually come here to do work, and not to try to pick up people."

"You think I do this all the time?" Alfred had pouted and shifted closer to the other. Arthur glanced towards him, but otherwise made no move away from his book. "That I try to hook up with people in libraries?"

Arthur licked his lips, staring intently at the words before him. "Maybe," he said distractedly. "I don't know. You're pretty strange."

"Hahaha!" Alfred drew back, laughing, before leaning even closer to the shorter man. "You're so cute, Iggy. After your exam thingy is over, how about we go for coffee?"

Alfred had leaned so close now, practically sitting on Arthur's lap, and he could feel his breath on his neck. It was awfully distracting. He had opened his mouth to reply, and -

"You think he keeps trying to hit on you?"

The Brit was snapped out of his reveries at the sound of Francis' voice. He sighed, swallowed a mouthful of spit, and shook his head.

"Well . . . OK. Yeah. He asked me out." He cursed inwardly when he felt that damned blush returning.

Francis couldn't help but smirk at that. He shifted the phone to his other ear. "And then what did you say?"

"That I had to go. And that's up to now."

"Hmm. The question is, Sourcils, do you want to go out with him?"

Arthur opened and closed his mouth several times.

"Sourcils? I'm waiting," Francis said.

"No!" Arthur shouted. Francis held the phone at a distance, wincing. "I mean – yes! I mean no! I mean . . . " He sighed and rumpled his messy blond hair. "I don't know what I want . . . " he finished in a small voice.

The Frenchman returned the phone to his ear. "Well, if you are not interested, then just tell him you are not interested. And if you are, then just say yes, you would like to - "

"I bloody well know how to accept a date invitation, stupid Frog!" Arthur resisted the urge to put his fist through the wall. Instead, he banged his head against the payphone box and groaned. "Can't you just . . . " He glanced back into the library. Alfred was still there. "Can't you just smuggle me out of here, or something?"

Francis scoffed at the suggested. "Non. This is your problem to deal with. Bonne chance, Sourcils."

He hung up the phone. He turned around, planning to go back to sleep, but found Matt sitting up in bed, looking at him through the dim light of early morning.

"Forgive me, Mathieu, did I wake you?"

"Eh, it's alright." Matt glanced blearily at the clock. "I wanted to get up before too long anyways. It's OK." He stretched and yawned, reaching over to turn on the bedside lamp, then smiled, an idea seeming to form in his mind.

Matthew crawled over to straddle the other's lap and trailed a hand down his torso. The Frenchman raised an eyebrow at him. "Hey, now that we're both awake, I know something we should do . . . "

Well, Francis thought, smirking, he wasn't going to say no to that.

Back at the library entrance, Arthur stood looking at his hands and listening to the monotonous dial tone. He hung up the public telephone with a sigh and folded his arms, resting against the wall.

Either way, Arthur had to go back there; he didn't have much of a choice. He had left one of his books in the library, and he couldn't just leave it there all day. The Brit shot a look back through the library window. Alfred's book was still open on the desk, and he had produced a fresh cup of coffee from somewhere, but he was looking around now, apparently growing impatient. Something niggled at Arthur, and he looked away.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, he steeled his courage and walked towards the library doors. Pausing only briefly at the handle, he opened the door and walked inside. Alfred glanced up and closed the airplane book as he entered.

"Finally!" he said, standing up as Arthur strode towards his table. "I thought you'd ran off! I only came here because of you, you know."

The Brit ignored him, picking up his textbook. Alfred put his hands on his hips.

"Aren't you going to say anything to me? And hey, what about going out for coffee later?"

Damn. He was hoping he'd forget that.

Arthur stared at a spot on the carpet floor while the American looked at him expectantly. Finally, he said, "why me?"

Alfred clapped his hands onto the other's shoulders and laughed. "Why not you, Iggy Wiggy? I like you. Isn't that reason enough?"

"Humph . . . " Arthur turned away, tucking his book under his arm. "It isn't if the feeling isn't mutual."

Alfred blinked, letting his hands fall to the side. "Oh . . . " he said, letting the meaning of the words sink in. "Oh, OK. I see. Well, sorry. I'll just be on my way then . . . "

Shit! That wasn't supposed to happen! Arthur felt he realized this too soon as he watched the American walk towards the exit doors.

"Wait!" He called. Alfred turned back to look at him with a curious expression. Arthur trotted up to the taller one, furrowing his great eyebrows while a magnificent blush spread across his face.

"One time," he said. "I'll go out with you one time, after I finish the exam. And you have to pay!"

Alfred grinned with the brightness of the sun. Without warning, he swooped down and captured Arthur's lips in his. The Brit's eyes widened and his textbook clattered to the floor, but before he could react further, Alfred pulled away.

"Awesome, Iggy! I knew you'd come around!"

Arthur frowned. "Wait . . . so that walking away, that was all an act? You git!"

"Hey!" Alfred scratched the back of his head sheepishly, peering out at him through his spectacles. "I had to do something! You know, sometimes I don't want to do all the chasing. It gets boring. And besides, you're a tough nut to crack, Iggy – though that's part of the reason why I like you. I didn't really expect it to work at all. To be honest I was kinda surprised when you practically came running into my arms - "

"Alfred," the Brit said, grabbing his collar. "You're in a library. Shut up." And he shut him up using the only way he knew for sure that would be successful: by kissing him. Alfred responded with enthusiasm, pushing him up against a bookshelf.

He was suddenly very glad that no one else came to the library at such odd hours.


"Oh?" Francis began planting light kisses down the Canadian's jawline, pausing in his speech as he did so. "You have – something in mind?"

Matt hummed and tilted his head back, giving Francis better access as he moved down his neck. He placed his hands on his shoulders and wriggled slightly. "Sure do."

"And what might that be?"

The younger blond grinned and leapt off the other's lap, leaving Francis with a confused look.

"Making pancakes!" he said, dashing towards the kitchen.

Francis just groaned and buried his head in his hands.

Translations (All French)

Sourcils = Eyebrows

Ce n'est rien = It's nothing/Never mind

Moi = Me (obviously . . . )

Non = No

Bonne chance = Good luck

A/N: Would you believe me if I said this was based on a true story? The story is actually very similar to something my dad told me that happened to him in university (he was the guy who got the call. Except he's not gay. Obviously I probably wouldn't be here if my dad was gay). I could imagine it happening to the Hetalia characters, so I wrote this.

This is my first-ever fanfiction, hehe. Please tell me your thoughts!