So, here is another little fanfiction I came up with during my time without the interwebs.

I really don't know what to say here, other than I don't own Hetalia, so I'll just shut up and let you read.


Rain poured everywhere; it was the perfect setting for a death. But no one had died, and no one was dying. There was only a lone man trudging through the London streets, his pale hair shining silver in the moonlight. His clothes were dark, clinging to his body and soaked from the constant downpour. It was this image that truly inspired Arthur.

The Briton had been leaning against his window pane, staring aimlessly out into the rain, when he saw the man. Arthur had written some short stories before, and so this odd rain-walker became just another idea. As he watched the man disappear out of sight, plots and characters began formulating their way into Arthur's mind. He had no idea how long he had sat there, against the window pane, thinking up thoughts for this new story, but something about the whole scene made Arthur know that this could be the one. The story that got his name out there. He couldn't explain why he felt this way, perhaps because it was a different storyline than his others, perhaps because he just really wanted something to make his face known. Whatever it was, it pushed Arthur to start writing, at two in the morning despite having classes the nest day.

Four hours and twenty-five pages later, Arthur lay down his pen and the pad of paper and flexed his fingers. The sunlight had begun to peer around the clouds, a hazy orange glow spreading across the city of London.

Arthur stood up and walked to the small kitchenette inside his dorm room, and began boiling some water for his tea. The Briton yawned and ran a hand through his messy blonde hair. Once his tea had been made, he walked back to the window, pressing his forehead against the glass once more. People had begun to appear from their flats, mingling around the outer rings of the campus.

Arthur took another sip of his tea, glancing across the room to where his roommate was sprawled across the bed, snoring slightly. Alfred could probably sleep through the end of the world, which Arthur would occasionally use to his advantage. After all, Alfred would draw on his face whenever the Briton came home drunk; it was only fair that Arthur could do the same.

Deciding to be different this morning, Arthur walked back over to the kitchenette and grabbed a bowl. The blonde turned on the water, running his fingers through it to make sure it was icy, and began filling the large bowl he had chosen. Arthur found it odd that faucets took hours to create warm water for a shower, but mere seconds to create icy water for pouring over a loud-mouthed, snoring roommate. Shrugging the thought away, Arthur walked over to where his roommate was standing and flipped the bowl over, a cascade of icy water falling down upon his head.

Alfred woke up coughing and swearing. Arthur lowered the bucket and his usual scowl appeared back on his face. Alfred blinked some water out of his eyes before shaking his head like a dog, getting Arthur wet. Arthur guessed he deserved it, but still…

"Good morning, twit."

"You too…" Alfred yawned, then grinned. He was always smiling, the git. Alfred was much too happy for Arthur to deal with, and his insane amount of happy was only one of the many things that Arthur found to be a bother about the American. But, Arthur had a pertinent question to ask Alfred, and thus, the boy had to be dealt with. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "I've begun writing a new story. I've finished the first two chapters, and I'd like you to read them."

"Okay, but, dude, since when do you care about my opinion?" Alfred turned his head to the side. Both men knew that Arthur never came to Alfred for advice, and so this was a rare occasion. Arthur shrugged. "Because I am a cynic and I would like someone who is not as cynical as I to read it over and tell me whether if I should continue it or scrap it."

Arthur leaned towards his roommate, cold green eyes narrowed. "But, you must promise me not to say anything about superheroes or the main character having superpowers. Because that is not going to happen, and if you say anything, you'll never see this again."

"Until it's published." Alfred hadn't even read a single word of what Arthur had written, yet he assumed that it would end up being published. Damn optimist.

"If it's published. You haven't even read it yet." Arthur Kirkland, the pessimist. Or realist, if one wanted to look at it like that. Either way, Alfred was getting a glimpse into the mysterious word of his British roommate. Alfred knew that he was being overly positive that he would find out about Arthur's life just by reading two chapters of late night scribbling, but Alfred preferred to be positive. Besides, even if he didn't get to know his roommate better, then at least he would be a deciding factor on whether or not there would be more of the book. That was good enough for Alfred.

So as Arthur grabbed a change of clothes and went off to shower, Alfred began reading. Twenty minutes later, Arthur came out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel. Alfred barely glanced up, continuing to read. Arthur, done drying his hair, tossed the towel carelessly onto his bed and stood over where Alfred was perched. Arthur crossed his arms again. "How far have you gotten?"

"First chapter. It's really interesting, but I can't always follow." Alfred flipped the page over. "Not that it's too hard to read or anything, you just sound really smart."

"He's a killer, Alfred."

"The main guy?" Alfred looked up at his roommate with wide blue eyes. Alfred wasn't the type to read murder stories, or watch murder movies. He was more into superheroes, sci-fi, and romance. Arthur had no idea why Alfred liked romance, but he did. Arthur nodded in reply to Alfred's question. "The man in the rain is a killer. Why do you think he kills?"

"For love?" Alfred was hoping it was something like that. Of course he was. He had heard bits of Arthur's stories, as the Briton would sometimes speak the words out loud as he typed them into his laptop. Most of them were tragic romance, and Alfred was expecting another one.

"No, he's insane, and believes his pet to be God. He's making sacrifices." Arthur twirled a pen between his fingers. Alfred shivered, not sure he enjoyed the idea of sacrificing for an animal god. "That's kind of weird…"

"It's different." Arthur shrugged again, grabbing his bags and walking out of the dorm. He had classes today, and he wanted to get there early. After taking the stairs (the elevator was out of order, again) the Briton walked out into the foggy morning. As he walked, a flash of yellow caught his eye, and he turned to see a small bird hopping around by the edge of a puddle. Furrowing his eyebrows, Arthur walked to the puddle and squatted down by the bird. It looked up at him with little black eyes. "Peep!"

Arthur picked up the baby bird, cupping it in his hands. "What were you doing in a puddle, you silly little thing? Someone could have stepped on you."

The bird peeped again, hopping around on Arthur's palm. Arthur noticed a small tag on the bird's leg, perhaps the equivalent to a collar on a dog. Shifting the bird into one hand, the Briton reached with his other to try and read the small writing on the tag. The chick only hopped up Arthur's arm, pecking at his fingers. The blonde tried to look at the tag again, but the bird only hopped onto Arthur's other hand. It looked up innocently. "Peep?"

"Bloody bird, I'm trying to see what's on your leg!" Arthur reached for the tag again, only to have the bird fly up onto his head. Arthur sighed, grabbing the bird and holding it in his hands once again. He held the bird a few inches from his face, wishing that the yellow ball of feathers wasn't so frustrating. After all, it was only a baby bird. It shouldn't be too hard to get a glimpse of the tag that probably held its home address. Arthur held the bird with one hand and flipped the tag over with the other. On it was an address, as Arthur had expected, as well as a name for the bird. "Gilbird." The Briton set the bird on his shoulder. "Sit."

"Peep!" The bird hopped onto Arthur's shoulder, but luckily did not move onto his head or any other part of his body. The blonde checked his watch. "I've still got thirty minutes before my class starts. I should have time to get you home and not be late."

"Peep!" Gilbird seemed excited to get home, and Arthur understood. He wouldn't want to be abandoned in a puddle either. Arthur tapped Gilbird on its head. "Alright, let's go."

YAY Gilbird. Note: I understand that this chapter is not the most interesting thing on the planet. The next one will be the exact opposite. Not because it is from Prussia's POV, but because whenever I write in first-person, the character I am writing as becomes a little spazzier than usual.

Please R&R for ADHD Prussia!