Arthur Kirkland, better known to some as England, sighed.
He had spent the last few days up to his eyebrows with paperwork. Work work work, day and night, all he ever had to do these days was his blasted paperwork. Sure, occasionally he would be able to make himself a cup of Earl Grey, curl up with a book, or chat with his magical friends, but there were times when the words on the paper start to dance and he dearly wished he could give whoever invented this task a mighty blow on the head. All he wanted was to just take a nap and let his sore fingers rest. He had pulled more than a few all-nighters to get the work done. His blonde hair was more disheveled than usual, and dark edges had found their way under his viridian eyes. He felt like he was going mad. There was even a time when he held his pen to his mouth, thinking it was his tea. England looked dejectedly at the columns of white paper and vanilla folders that sat on his desk; that's it, he was going to take a break and eat, whether it was wasting his time on his paperwork or not. It was far past anyone's normal suppertime and he hadn't a bite to eat. He stood up pushed his wooden chair back, walking briskly towards his kitchen.
England had only rented this rather small flat because the office in his own house for once, could not hold in the load of rubbish. The flat only contained a kitchen, bedroom, tiny closet, and an even tinier living room, not that he cared, it was the large white office that he had chosen this place for. Once he was finished, he would be moving out of this place for good.
The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was white, with bright citrus-orange tiles as a back splash. Green orbs scanned the room, there was a sink, oven, microwave, and even a dishwasher. A minuscule freezer could also be found. He actually hadn't used much of it yet, except cook some burned-up toast and boil water for tea. To be honest, he didn't really like it, the modern simplicity a little to plain for his taste, but it wasn't like he was going to live here forever.
Tonight's supper was going to be stew. Arthur thought it was a good choice, it would serve to warm him up and also revitalize some much-needed energy for what looked like was going to be yet another all-nighter. Plus, no one cooked stew better than him, especially not that damned frog. A grin stretched onto his face. Wanker.
In a few minutes, he had chopped some vegetables, poured in some broth, and added meat, along with some other contents that should be censored if you ever happen to look at it. He could hardly wait for the stew to be done. Instead of returning to his paperwork, he sat on a stool and watched the flame from the oven warm his supper. It's taking such a long time! his mind yelled at him, never in his life had he felt more aggravated at a stove. Grumbling impatiently, he got up and turned the dial, his eyes lit up with satisfaction as he watched the flame grow, and the aroma of the stew caressed his nostrils. He turned the dial even further, and he before he knew it, the pot was glowing hot and orange flames were licking at the stove's surface. England was getting concerned, and he reached an arm out to turn the dial back. Is it even possible for a stove to get this ho-
Suddenly, fire shot up from the stove, and he opened his mouth.
The oven exploded, and England leapt towards the doorway, but not before the scalding contents of his stew spewed out onto his outstretched arm. "Agh!" The liquid burned his skin and he fell onto the floor, the pain blocking out everything else in his mind. The kitchen was ablaze, and he roused himself up. It was then that what was happening hit him full in the face.
"Oh for the love of-"
He dashed towards his office, desperate to save a week's worth of hard labor. And it was then that he heard the sirens, at least that bloody fire was going to be put out. Trying his best to ignore the agony on his arm, he grabbed the boxes full of his finished work and put it next the front door. He pushed the stack of unfinished work into a few more boxes, getting them to the door as fast as he could. Grabbing his suitcase, which he hadn't bothered to open since his arrival, England raced towards the door like a madman and grabbed his boxes, then proceeding to get into the hallway and close his door behind him. Letting out a groan, he looked down, his belongings, along with his work was with him. That stupid kitchen was on fire and he watched as firemen began to put out the flames, and he was escorted away from the apartment, where he got his left arm cleaned and bandaged.
And now he sat in the lobby of the local hospital, his cell phone raised to his ear, with a deeply sour look etched on his face. He was calling his boss, he needed another place to stay.
The line buzzed.
"Hello?" his boss' voice came on.
His reply was frank.
"Ah, what are you calling me for? It's six in the morning."
Drat. England frowned, he was hoping to avoid this topic.
"I...uh...my kitchen blew up. I'm in the hospital with a burned arm, and I need a place to finish my paperwork."
The line went silent for a while. It wasn't the first time, his boss had to hear about his culinary mishaps.
There was a sigh from the other side of the line.
"I see. At this moment, I can't have a place ready for you yet, but I can arrange for a flight."
"You can go to someone else's house can't you?"
"I...well, yes I suppose I could."
"Well then you can on a plane and into a house in a few hours. Now I just-"
"If you don't mind me asking, where exactly are you arranging for me to stay?"
Thoughts raced through England's mind as he thought of all the places that he might end up in. Definitely not with that bloody frog, he had made it clear to all who knew him that he hated that man with a burning passion. Spain would most likely kick him out, the bastard just couldn't get over a few galleons of gold. Germany wouldn't be so bad, but he didn't want to eat nothing but wurst and potatoes. His thoughts momentarily wandered to the Nordics...Nah, they were too strange. A flight to either China or Japan would take more than just a few hours, and it was troublesome, not to mention completely pointless to fly for 16 hours just to do some paperwork. Italy! Italy was a nice place, the chap himself was a little on the weird side, and his brother really needed to learn how shut up; but if he could just stay out of their way, he would be able to do his work in peace, and in a nice environment also. Yes, that would be lovely, the place he would be staying at is going to be-
"America of course."
"A-America?!" he shouted, drawing the attention of a few patients and some nurses, he quickly lowered his voice to an enraged whisper. "You can't be serious! Anyone but him-and that frog! Why the bloody hell would you send me to live with that dimwit?!"
"Well" Arthur swore he could detect a tinge of humor in his boss' tone, "no one else is really available at the moment...that you would want to stay with."
"That's rubbish! What about Germany, Italy, or Switzerland? Or Greece!"
"Germany is busy at the moment, Italy is sick, you know very well Switzerland wouldn't think twice about killing you in your sleep if you so much as look at Lichtenstein, and Greece is also either too sick or sleeping for me to contact him right now."
England wanted to tear his hair out. "I am not staying with that idiotic hamburger-for-brains! America has got to be the worst choice! He's got an alien creature for a friend, murders my language, and-" he stopped, his mention of America and his rising voice was beginning to attract attention.
"J-Just don't put me with him! Am-Alfred is a complete imbecile!"
"It's your choice Arthur, either I can send you to Russia, who is the only one available at the moment, and you know I would never do that; or you can take the plane to America. I won't have you staying anywhere else."
He glared daggers at his shoes.
"Thank you. Don't worry about the flat damage, I always have money saved up for situations like that. Meanwhile, I will have your flight arranged for you, I trust you have enough money to get to the airport? You didn't let that go down in the fire did you?"
"Good. I will call you to let you know more about your flight. Meanwhile, you should prepare yourself, and let me know when you're at the airport."
And the call ended.
Now he just had to inform the idiot he was coming over.
"Dude this is the life."
Alfred F. Jones, better known to some as America, sighed.
He had spent the last few days enjoying a much-needed break. He actually still had a little bit of work left, but his boss decided to be nice after America threatened him that he would make him provide ice cream for him for an entire year. Great man, his boss. America had been able to relax and spend some time chilling out with his best alien pal Tony in one of his vacation houses located in the north-eastern suburbs. The house itself was a reasonable size, and provided him with all he needed to get away from the endless amount of work that flooded his life. He was lying on his couch, panting from excitement after a heated-game between Tony and him on his X Box Sure he had lost, but heroes aren't sore losers, plus, it was an exciting game. He was hungry, maybe he should order a Chinese takeout...? Nah, he'd had that yesterday, maybe he should order some pepperoni pizza instead. He was getting drowsy, and his lids began to droop over his sky-blue eyes and was about to fall asleep until...
Oh come on.
America rolled over onto his stomach and picked up his phone, which had been lying on the floor. He grabbed it and pressed it to the side of his head, rolling onto his back at the same time.
"...Hello?" His voice carried a lazy drone
The accent totally gave it away.
"England? Dude is that you?"
"Yes it is. Is there a problem?"
"No no..." America fiddled idly with Nantucket, "...I was just wondering why you were calling me, that's all. It's one o' clock in the morning here y'know."
"Well, the thing is, my boss told me that I have to stay at your place. You're boss already agreed."
"I'm not telling you!"
"Alright, dude, calm down. You can be so uptight sometimes."
"First of all," the Englishman's tone was dangerously low, "stop butchering my language."
America's eyes rolled heavenward.
"Second of all, I will not 'calm down'. I have a mountain of paperwork that is yet to be finished, and I am not, I repeat, not in a good mood right now."
He snickered, "I noticed."
"Shut up, wanker. Just be prepared for when I come alright? I'll just be staying for a few days."
"Yeah sure thing, just don't mess up my vacation."
"...You're on vacation?"
England couldn't help but feel jealous, the bloody idiot was on vacation. And here he was, standing in the middle of the street with a burnt arm and boxes of paperwork piled up next to him. Why did life just have to be so unfair?
"I sure am."
"It's fine, when will you be arriving?"
"It would be your morning tomorrow, eight-thirty I believe."
"OK see you Iggy!"
"What?! MY NAME IS NOT-"
America sighed and tossed the phone back onto the floor. Bad idea, he had to go to bed before he was too tired to drag his ass to his room. He bent over, picked up the phone, and climbed slowly towards his room, assisted by an almost equally tired Tony. The bed felt incredibly good on his back, better than the couch, and he let out a sigh of contentment; boy was he tired, maybe he shouldn't have stayed up so late-or early. What was he going to do about England? The man was most likely going to shut himself up somewhere and work on his papers, that try hard. England really should loosen up sometimes. Maybe he could use a vacation too. America shook his head and chuckled. But it probably wouldn't work out, he was just too uptight, especially during times like these. Suddenly, his blue eyes widened and he shot up from his bed, startling his alien companion as epiphany graced his features.
"That's it!" he shouted aloud. Sure this vacation was relaxing...but video games was only going to keep him going for so long. He needed to have some fun. Surely poking some fun at good old England wouldn't hurt would it? His eyes sparkled and he grinned mischievously as his mind thought about all the possible ways he could annoy the older country.
Alfred was going to enjoy this a lot.
England clutched his phone is his hand, and shaking violently, shoved it into his pocket. He was so furious he was ready to chuck it across the street and pretend it was America, but that wouldn't exactly painted a very flattering picture of him. Not that he cared. The blonde Brit was more worried about how he was going to spend his time at America's. It was definitely going to be horrible. The bloody wanker was calling him those absurd nicknames again, he was really going to do something about that when he got there. But his mind moved on, America had sounded pretty tired on the phone...well, it was early in the morning. The brat must've stayed up all night playing his stupid video games. Not like him, staying up till seven in the morning doing his work.
He exhaled slowly, watching his breath rise up into the winter sky. It was chilly, and despite the fact that he had fished out his favorite coat from his suitcase and wrapped himself in a scarf, he wasn't saved from the biting chill. Arthur could feel the cold breeze on the nape of his neck and roughen his cheeks. His nose was beginning to feel raw, and his knees knocked together. The landscape around him was bleak, grey buildings lined the empty street in which he was standing on. Soft orange light shone from the streetlight, and his green eyes followed a piece of paper as it danced across the asphalt, making pita pat pit sounds that echoed. Everywhere, it was deathly quiet, and during times like these, Arthur could almost feel a certain heaviness in his heart. Standing in the street, all alone...
No, he shook himself out of his reverie, his enormous eyebrows scrunching in frustration, pull yourself together, England.
Soon, his ears picked up the sound of a motor and a black car sent from his boss appeared at far end of the alley, making its way towards him to take him to the airport. Wheels rolled to a halt, and he put his suitcase and boxes into the trunk, and then sat in the backseat so he could get some proper rest on his way to the airport. The driver was already informed of his condition, and said little during the drive save for a "Good day, sir." as he was dropped off at the airport. Arthur breezed through customs (being the country that he was), and soon found himself dozing off in the comfortable chair of his private first-class flight after informing his boss he was on his way to America. He gloomily to himself that his flight was most likely going to be far more enjoyable that his upcoming stay with America, but decided to just go to sleep, and soon, his forest green eyes fluttered closed, and contentment washed over his features as sleep overtook his small and tired frame.
A/N: Hi there! If you are reading this, I will give you a very large virtual hug! Why? Because this my very first Hetalia fanfic, and also my first submission here on !
I hope you enjoyed reading this. I don't care what you do, follow, favorite, or even write a review, just let me know you read this, and I will be happy enough. ;w;
This will be continued, by the way, I wonder what America's planning to do to England~? We shall find out soon enough, America's not really one to keep surprises for that long after all, is he? I'm sure England will be totally thrilled too. No, its not because I enjoy playing jokes on England myself...or anything...
Anyhoo, I hope you like this, and please let me know if you do! ^ ^
If you actually want to hear the technical details of this, keep reading, if you don't need to be bothered with this crap, you can x out now, haha.
I don't exactly know what sort of city would just allow Iggy to get away with blowing up his kitchen into smithereens and not have anything to say about it, nor do I know of such a city that would do that and also have an airport nearby, I don't live in England or Britain, in case you didn't know, but I do try to do my research, so feel free to correct me if I have strayed a little too far from reality. And yes, the north-eastern America that I wrote about is New England (haha) mostly because I'm more familiar with that area and the houses around it. Also about the time, in England I mentioned it was around 6 in the morning, and since England has a 5 hour-ahead-time-zone-difference-whatever-you-call-it-thing, it should be around 1 in the morning at America's place. And America said its late because I usually doesn't stay up that late. (What a coincidence I'm writing this at 1 in the morning...in America). In the beginning I used 'flat' instead of apartment because I've read that that is what's used instead of 'apartment'.
Flat - Apartment
Thanks for reading~!