I do not own Hetalia

Prologue

He was an insanely good fuck.

The new youth who moved into town those this, the words swinging in his mine like a pendulum on a broke screw. His body rocked with movement and trembled with the sheer touches of the man behind him. He, fresh out of college and ready to take on the world, blond hair, shiny teeth, and a light sprinkling of freckles across his cheeks, named Alfred F. Jones, was about to lose his mind.

Hands clamped down on his sides and his body curved upwards, his breath escaping him in a powerful gust. He could smell wine on the man's breath, as well as a light tinge of cigarette smoke. Alfred didn't care. He was stressed. His flight had been delayed. Yeah, that was a good excuse.

Maybe not an excuse since it really did happen. He really did leave Detroit an hour later than he was supposed to and ended up arriving far too late into the traffic hours of his new home. The cars were packed in the streets and sluggish. Horns honked, like geese cackling in the misty winter evening. Lights gleamed off cars, caught on the fog. Alfred had sat in the taxi, worried that his suit case would come flying out of the back of the cab the second the antsy driver got too annoyed.

It didn't happen. He reached his apartment in one piece, his luggage fully intact and the cologne bottles inside unharmed. He unpacked, set up his place, and checked in with his new job. Once he had done all the business for the day, he hit the streets.

The man with wine-breath, named Francis Bonnefoy, grabbed Alfred and flipped him over—gently. Alfred complied meekly, looking up at Francis, his vision blurry since his glasses were askew halfway across the apartment. Francis grinned down at him, grasping Alfred's ankles. His blond curls swung by his face, coming undone from the tie at the base of his neck.

Alfred tried hard not to fall in love with him. Even though he was giving him the best time he had ever had in his life. Even though the man's mere touch at the small of his back sent him into ecstasy. Alfred moaned loudly and Francis kissed him, smothering his lips. Alfred grinned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around the slim neck and broad shoulders. Francis' eyes were blue as crystal.

The streets were welcoming, surprisingly enough. Alfred expected to play the role of a boy coming from a hard life into this new world, a beaten puppy in a foster home, but instead he was greeted with smiles or sneers. Some men brushed past him, giving him a pat on the back. Alfred cruised a few.

After an hour of only drinks and light conversation, Alfred began to grow tired of looking. It seemed that whoever was interested, he didn't care for. And those he found insanely attractive were already necking in the back rooms or on the corner of the streets. Alfred didn't lose hope yet, of course. It was a Tuesday after all.

He waited, drawing circles out of salt on the glossy bar table. After a few minutes, a ripple of laughter passed through a nearby group of friends, and the stool next to him scraped aside. Alfred looked up and met those blue eyes.

"Hey."

"Hello." Francis said smoothly. "Are you new?"

"Yeah. Guess you could tell from my desolate look." Alfred shrugged, adjusting his leather jacket uncomfortably. His cheeks were sweltering.

"No, I could tell since you didn't recognise me."

"Oh." Was Alfred's only response to him until the morning.

Morning eventually drew in and Alfred broke away from sleep, still in the strange apartment. He stood, stretching. He was sore, and his job started in three hours.

The bathroom was alive with the buzz of plumbing, providing a sprinkle of water into the cramped shower. The room smelled just like Francis, of wine and cigarettes, as well as fruits, expensive cologne, and vinegar. Alfred wondered why he wasn't repulsed by it.

"Hey?" Alfred called into the bathroom.

"I have spare tooth brushes if you need any."

"No… I'm good."

"I also have orange juice in the fridge. Take a drink before you go. There's nothing to steal. I'm poor as dirt."

"I wasn't planning on it."

A pause.

"All right."

Alfred waited, listening to the water run. A low hum escaped Francis. A tune Alfred could barely recognise. Alfred pulled on his clothing, shuffling into his socks. The water turned off and Francis exited, wiping his face with a towel and then throwing it around his waist.

Francis looked at him, picking up his carton of cigarettes. His gaze was unfaltering. Alfred stared, feeling his cheeks turn red.

"So?"

"So?" Alfred responded quickly.

Francis lit the cigarette and stuck it in his mouth, smoke wafting up towards the ceiling. His chest was glistening with water. A necklace dangled near a thin scar. Alfred tore his eyes away politely. He approached the door, awkwardly waving goodbye.

"Wait."

Alfred stopped. He hoped desperately that the man would give him his number at the very least. Or maybe he would ask for another round. Or "see you later". Anything that would let Alfred stick around for just a minute or two more.

Francis grinned. "Don't get your hopes up. I'm a free spirit." He nodded at the walls, which were decorated in paintings.

Alfred tried not to show his disappointment. He grinned sheepishly. "Nah, that's good. Well, see you around?"

"No, I said 'wait' didn't I?"

"You did. True."

"Then wait." Francis approached him.

Alfred did wait.

Each second plodded on by, taking an eternity to pass and an infinity between each movement. Francis brushed his hair back.

"It doesn't do well for a man like you to be so new and alone in this city." Francis said, stuffing his cigarette. He picked up a pen and notepad from one of the drawers and scribble three phone numbers, names, and one address on it. He held it out to Alfred.

Alfred took it warily. The numbers he didn't recognise and all the names looked foreign. The address he had seen before.

"Oh, is this the pharmacy?" Alfred piped up when the memory plunked into his mind.

Francis nodded. His handwriting was clear, although rushed, and in twisted, curly characters. His Ms looked like they had been poked and were arched higher than what Alfred knew, and Francis' twos were strange as well. Alfred tucked the paper into his pocket.

"Call them if you need anything. Or stop by. We don't bite." Francis smiled. "Good bye. Maybe we'll meet up again later."

Alfred smiled. "Thanks."

Francis shrugged, and his image crept away as Alfred pulled the door shut.