Hello everyone. See, I'm really just a crazy tennis fan...so it was only a matter of time before this happened. I hope you like it, though! It's going to be a fun ride, I promise! I don't normally write Hetalia. So if something is wrong or off, please let me know! That being said... here we go!

I don't own anything!


Alfred Jones sighed, dropping his racket bag down onto the ground next to one of the cushy armchairs in the hotel lobby. Dropping himself into it, he allowed himself to relax for just a moment. He had done it. He had taken the chance, flown to England, and participated in the qualifying rounds for Wimbledon. And made it.

The decision to come to England had been last minute. He had been planning on trying to make it over from the States at some point in his career, but never expected it to be so soon. But then the sign ups for the qualifiers had opened, and he couldn't contain himself. But he had done it. He didn't even care if he was eliminated in the first round... he was still participating in Wimbledon.

Sure there had been a few local tournaments. But nothing big, nothing exciting...nothing Wimbledon. He probably would have been satisfied just knowing he had stepped foot onto one of the courts for the qualifying matches. Nothing could get him down. Wimbledon was the tennis tournament. What a way to turn pro. Closing his eyes, he imagined his name and stats on the ATP tennis rankings page, the words 'Turned pro in 2011' written out by his picture.

Grinning, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a smiley face to his parents and cousin. All of them would know exactly what it meant.

Dropping his phone onto his chest, waiting to see who would be the first to respond, he look in his surroundings. He had of course looked at the lobby before, but only in passing. A quick glance around when checking in, and making sure nothing was in his way as he walked either from the elevators towards the doors, or from the doors to the elevators. The room was kind of grand, a comfortable sitting area to the side of the front desk, and the desk it's self appeared to be made of some kind of marble. He didn't know if it were real or fake, but had a feeling it was as real as the grand piano off to the other side of the desk.

His phone vibrated against his chest and he picked it up to see his cousin Matthew had been the first to respond. 'Your name is all over the internet'. Alfred grinned. Probably not all over the internet, but if you went to the right websites, which he was sure Matthew was, he was probably listed on a few different pages as a Wimbledon hopeful. As he hit the reply button, someone had dropped their bags down across from him. Glancing up at the noise Alfred discovered that another tennis player was there. It didn't really surprise him, this hotel was a good distance away from the courts, not too far and not too close. And it was nice.

'Of course it is, I'm totally awesome! Coach told me I was going in too early!' He typed out in reply to Matthew. His phone vibrated again almost instantly after his message to Matthew had sent. This time it was his mother congratulating him. He was in the middle of typing out a reply to her when he heard the person across from him speak up.

"I am here!"

Alfred looked up, and froze. Across from him, phone pressed against his ear, was Francis Bonnefoy. Currently ranked number six in the world. He looked up, as though having sensed Alfred's stare and flashed him a large grin.

"No need to sound so angry, I'm only a day early!" Francis spoke into the phone. Alfred could hear a faint mumble coming from the device, and assumed whomever it was that Francis was speaking to was not pleased with him. "Just come down here! My reservation is not until tomorrow, and the horrible woman at the desk told me that there is no room for me until then. You know as well as I that there is a pullout couch in the room. Or we could always share-"

Alfred looked away, hopeful that Francis wouldn't notice that he had been listening to his conversation or at least his amusement that he had been hung up on, and began responding to Matthew's latest reply.

"Are you here for Wimbledon?"

Alfred looked up quickly, somehow knowing Francis was speaking to him this time. Sure enough the blond Frenchman was looking right at him.

"Yeah." Alfred nodded. It was all he trusted himself to say. He didn't want to sound star struck, even though he slightly was. This was his first encounter with anyone that experienced in the pro tennis world, let alone someone that highly ranked.

"Excellent." Francis replied. "What is your rank?"

Alfred laughed nervously. "Well I don't exactly.. that is to say..."

"You are a qualifier."

It wasn't a question. Francis had understood immediately.

"Yeah." Alfred responded. "I made it into the draw though, my first time! It's going to be awesome!"

"Congratulations." Francis replied, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. He then stood and approached Alfred. "Francis Bonnefoy."

"Alfred Jones." Alfred grinned, taking the hand extended towards him.

"Good luck." Francis grinned, moving back to pick up his bags. "You will need it. Wimbledon is the best of competitions. I will see you around the courts in a few days time."

And he was gone. Alfred was left grinning stupidly in his seat, watching Francis' retreating back. He watched as the man threw an arm around a shorter blond that Alfred was almost certain looked like it could have been Arthur Kirkland, world number four.

But that couldn't be. Francis Bonnefoy and Arthur Kirkland had a known rivalry in the sport... one that often got out of hand. If you followed professional tennis, you knew about it. They had both been disqualified from the Australian Open and fined a decent amount of money for one of their arguments two years ago. But then the shorter blond shoved Francis' arm off of him, pressing the button for the elevator and turning to face Francis, allowing Alfred to get a good look at his face. It was definitely Arthur Kirkland.

Waiting until the two were safely inside the elevator, Alfred jumped up and collected his things. He needed to tell Matt about this, and he needed his laptop.

It was far too much for his phone to handle.