Word Count: 1,734
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia and Ouran High School Host Club
Pairing(s): Obligatory Host Club x Haruhi. America/Alfred x Haruhi x Kyouya. Slight US x UK.
Summary: When going for a trip to America, Haruhi met a unique blue-eyed teen by the name of Alfred. But there was more about him that she didn't know yet; for a start, Kyouya knew him…
Warnings: None so far.
Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia is Hidekaz Himaruya's and Ouran High School Host Club is Bisco Hatori's. There.
One: An Encounter, an Introduction
Haruhi Fujioka would never believe this.
One day she was Haruhi Fujioka, everyday teenager and student. Today, she became Haruhi Fujioka, devil's favorite plaything, member of the Ouran High School Host Club and, by some cruel divine intervention, was dragged to the United States of America.
Maybe some of you would question the use of the word 'cruel', but really, when all you wanted to do in the first day of holiday was to sleep all day and your self-proclaimed 'family' suddenly barged in to your house in the early mornings, dragged you into a limousine, handed you your passport that you never knew existed and practically threw you into a plane for a 10-hour flight, really, cruel was an understatement.
Not that she was angry at them, though. From experience, she knew that they meant well, and no matter how hard she was trying to get her point across that No, it was not appropriate to do that to her and Yes, she was angry, she could not help smiling as she watched Tamaki and the twins arguing whether they should put tomato ketchup like usual or mustard to be more 'American', whatever that was.
However, she couldn't really enjoy the trip either, at least not now. It was the first month of the year, and even though in Japan the air had started to warm and the flowers had bloomed, in America, interestingly, the air was still freezing despite the inexistence of snow and the wind was strong. She was unprepared. She shivered, hands desperately squeezing her only protection—her thing blue jacket.
The argument between the group had escalated with the introduction of mayonnaise by Mori and Honey, and not wanting to get into problems in a foreign country, she sighed and strolled away from the group, burying her hand in her pockets hopelessly to find warmth. At times like this, she usually approached the (most of the times) only sane man, Kyouya, but somehow the bespectacled teen went missing—wait, since when?—and she ended up looking around alone.
Her mind started to wonder. Her body started to relax as she remembered that the seafood sale was next week instead of today as she'd suspected, but soon the imagination was interrupted by a voice.
"So, what do you think about America?"
The owner of the voice—whoever he was—had a very unique voice; his Japanese was fluent, as if he was accustomed to speaking and listening to Japanese, and yet his Western accent—is there such a thing as American accent? She wondered—was strong. Startled, she quickly turned to see the owner of the voice—
Blue. It was the first thing she thought when she saw him: blue. The owner—a bespectacled teen with blond hair, now she found out—had a very clear, mesmerizing blue eyes. She was captivated—not only because she rarely saw blue eyes, but his eyes had something different in them—a spark, a childish enthusiasm like Tamaki's and yet depth, a certain edge that draws you in like Kyouya's—
—ah. Kyouya. She didn't want to think about him now.
"Er, I'm sorry…" she tried, unsure whether or not to use English, which she was not really good at, and ended up with a stuttered Japanese, "y—you are…?"
The teen smacked himself on the head. "See, you forgot to introduce yourself again!" He said, presumably to himself as it was in English (she felt slightly proud for understanding that), then smiled at her warmly.
"Jones, Alfred F. Jones," he introduced himself, offering her his hand, "and I'm a hero! Of course, heroes always had to make sure that everyone—including this beautiful Japanese woman—enjoyed her time in his homeland!"
She would've considered him as a flirt and walked away if she didn't realize that his emphasis was on 'homeland' instead of 'beautiful woman' like what Tamaki always did. And he didn't seem to have any ulterior motives… "Fujioka," she muttered, shaking his hand, "I'm Haruhi Fujioka…Jones-san."
He frowned in disagreement. "Jones-san? What's with those formalities?" He smacked her back lightly, "call me Alfred."
He pouted. "You sound exactly like my best friend. Must all Japanese be so polite?"
She couldn't help giggling at his pouting face. She didn't know why; she understood perfectly the danger in giving her name to strangers, moreover in foreign countries like America, and yet, as the boy—Alfred, wasn't it?—grinned and started to show her around, she felt her skepticism and defenses melted together with her heart, and before she knew it, she had followed him. Out of interest, maybe.
Alfred reminded her of Tamaki, she reasoned as the teen waved exuberantly, and she had to admit she always had a soft spot for that idiot 'king'.
"Alfred-san," she said at one point, right after he'd bought her a chocolate-chip ice cream despite her fervent refusal ("you haven't been to America if you haven't tried our ice cream!") and asked, "how come your Japanese is very fluent?"
His eyes flickered—the way they always did every time he talked about his friends, she realized—and he grinned wider, "my best friend is Japan!"
Refraining herself to correct him that It should've been 'Japanese' instead of just 'Japan', she continued, "what's his name? Is he studying in America now?"
She thought she saw him pause for a while, as if he'd said something wrong, but it was quickly replaced with a warm smile that mad her sure it was only her imagination.
"His name is Kiku," Alfred told her, "Kiku Honda. He got stuffs to do in Japan, so he stays there, you can say, but he visits me quite a lot of times! Though it's been quite some time since we met as we had this little argument…"
At that, he trailed off for a while, his expression fell, but he then continued cheerfully, "but we're the best of friends! We like to watch horror movies together," he stopped then started to look around nervously as if a ghost would suddenly jump out from a non-existent corner, "speaking of ghost, yesterday I watched this scary movie about a woman with four arms…"
She wanted to point out that a four-armed woman would look funny instead of scary, but seeing his scared face, she decided not to.
He really looked frightened, like a child who'd just listened to horror stories, and before she knew it, she had raised her hand, reached out to him and patted his head.
"It's okay," she smiled reassuringly, "there's nothing to be afraid of."
He looked up at her, "Fujioka—"
She felt her heart skipped a beat when she heard the familiar voice. She pulled her hand too quickly from Alfred and—again, too swiftly and coupled with a trembling voice—she turned to the person, "Kyouya-senpai?"
And she was right. There, Kyouya stood, hands on the pocket of his black, bulky, it-worth-more-than-my-house-times-two jacket. She ever so quickly approached him, smacking herself mentally for stumbling, and grabbed the edge of his jacket.
Realizing that she might be squeezing a tailored jacket worth hundreds of thousands yen, she anxiously looked up, "ah, sorry senpai—"
She froze in shock. Kyouya's eyes were colder than ever, and they were not looking at her. It was steady, and she followed where he was looking and astounded to see, out of all people, Alfred.
A chill ran down her spine as Kyouya spoke, voice as cold as ice, juxtaposing his earlier tone of slight concern when calling Haruhi's name.
But before she could question or even react, Alfred already replied cheerfully, "Ootori!"
She gulped. No surprise, Kyouya glowered after hearing his name being called so happily by the American. Only Tamaki dared to call him with that kind of tone, and even that was when Kyouya was not glaring. What surprised her was the fact that Alfred, instead of seeking safety from the Wrath of the Shadow King, beamed at the aforementioned Shadow King, as if he didn't realize the other was throwing daggers at him.
Surely no one could be this dense?
Kyouya, ignoring her completely now, approached Alfred. Now, really, even though she kept saying that her English was atrocious, it was not that bad—she actually could understand simple everyday conversations in English. But of course, when was the last time Kyouya, or the Host Club members as a matter of fact, took part in simple everyday conversations?
Kyouya and Alfred started talking to each other in English, and Haruhi felt her head become dizzy from being bombarded by the multitude of unfamiliar English expressions and jargons. She heard the occasional "Japan", "America", "Ootori company" and even "Suoh", and she could recognize some words like "boss" and "England", but other than those, she was completely clueless. She even mixed up some words that she was quite sure Kyouya said "how was England?" in which Alfred replied with "haven't met him in a long time," which would not make sense at all.
So she gave up after a time. She looked away, thinking where to go next, until suddenly, she felt warmth on her right hand—
Kyouya was holding her hand and pulling her away. "Let's go," he stated in a half-offer half-order, and she felt the coldness from touching Alfred's hair was gone, replaced by the unexpected warmth of Kyouya's hand that travelled along her arm and jolting the senses of her entire body—
"See you later, Fujioka!" She heard Alfred call out, and she turned to see him as they walked away.
"Okay!" She called back, ignoring the fact that she might never meet Alfred anymore, "and it's Haruhi, Alfred-kun!"
Alfred grinned widely at that, but she could no longer see it clearly. Her heart was pounding loudly, and she swore there would be a trace of pink on her cheeks. She forgot coldness; her face was warm and she couldn't think clearly anymore.
Kyouya was still holding her hand.
America looked at the two retreating figures until they disappeared into a corner. He sighed, flipping his cell-phone open and pressed the numbers he'd memorized so well. He knew the person he was calling now wouldn't like his tea time interrupted, but he couldn't wait until three-thirty passed in London. He listened to the dialing tune of his cell-phone.
Pick up the call, England…
a/n: Yes, I hope it's not as confusing as I thought it was. Both of the fandoms are not A/Us, which means the nations are still nations. They pretty much choose their own names.