Oh, yes, I have gone and done exactly what I said I wouldn't. I have started another fanfic. As my main one really doesn't need working on *rolls eyes*. Yes, btw, I am working on it right now. I just had this idea and had to get it out. Don't kill me. Anyway, er...that's it. And yay for constant EnglandxAmerica fics from me XD. And more yay for chichéd title!

Enjoy!

Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.

Rated T for occasional bad language.

Arthur Kirkland had never liked thunderstorms. Even less now that it was almost half-eleven at night and his parents were away on holiday together and not there to comfort him like they normally would, but in a way, that was all right; it gave him a sense of independence. He liked his independence.

He glanced away from the news to the clock on the wall. It was 11:28. He had never realised how late it was, never stayed up this late watching television, except on new-year's eve, but that was something different.

Rubbing his eyes, he heaved his body up from the couch and straightened out the depression he had made in the leather by sitting there for so long and grimacing. He had a nasty habit of procrastinating until times like this; his A-levels were coming up tomorrow, and revising was really a priority for him…he just got distracted easily.

Stretching, he threw the cushions back down and made his way to the door, turning the lights off and heading upstairs, dragging his hands along the rough wallpaper.

In some ways, he enjoyed the freedom that the lack of parents gave him. He was allowed to choose his bedtime, how long he spent doing whatever he liked, and eating his favourite foods, but in other ways, he missed them.

He stumbled into the bathroom and grabbed his toothbrush, smearing it with toothpaste and scrubbing out his mouth noncommittally, throwing it back when he was finished and picking up a flannel. The storm wasn't improving; on the contrary, it was getting worse and worse: winds whipping the house like a horse and rain beating it down in attempts to reach the inhabitant.

After the dreary chores had been completed, he fell into the soft warmth of his bed, savouring every last detail. He listened to the raging tempest outside and the lashing rain against the glass behind closed curtains and felt safe, even though it did scare him a bit.

He was just drifting off when a blinding light filtered through the curtains and a deafening blast physically rocked the house, the computer shaking where it stood and several books tumbling onto the carpet and laying, pages splayed awkwardly. The blast shook the trembling young man awake, setting off an instinctive reaction; to jump out of bed.

He released a few of his choicest swear words and slammed a foot onto the ground childishly releasing a fit of rage. Deciding it would be best, he donned his dressing gown over his pyjamas and made his way downstairs to inspect any damage that might have occurred cautiously. The storm still swirled outside, but less violently, as if it had spent much of it's energy.

Grabbing the keys, he unlocked the door, glancing at the clock. It was precisely twelve. The ground outside was hideously wet, sucking weakly at his feet and trees reached across the sky over his head, the liquid reflecting perfectly the chink of moon that shone through the clouds that tensed and relaxed as if it was breathing. Like a living being.

He trotted out to the drive, unwilling to stay outside for long, and turned to look at the house. Finding in surprise that it was untouched, he walked away to his home again, but another flash illuminated a figure behind him. He swivelled on the spot, and gasped.

There was a crumpled person on the ground, shivering and heaving for breath, hair and clothes plastered to his body like a second skin.

He was wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans, both singed toward the bottom, glasses almost falling off the nose that dripped rain and blood, looking grotesquely broken in a way. His shoes were dangling precariously off his feet; split and bubbling from heat all the way down to the toes and the laces were frayed at the ends.

"Bloody hell…" Nothing could have prepared Arthur for this. He had gone outside expecting to maybe deal with discovering that there was no power for a week, but this?

Feeling he had no choice, he hoisted the man around his shoulders and struggled slowly to the door.

"Mate, you'd better not be drunk…"

"I'm not." The chapped lips gasped, surprising Arthur, "And…thank you…so much…" he went completely limp.

Speeding up, the boy dragged the mysterious man inside and up the stairs, not caring that the carpet and floors were becoming sodden by blood and rainwater and into his parents' bed, yanking off what little parts of shoes he had left. The figure sprawled ungainly over the bed, soaking it and making it sag. Arthur cringed at the mess made briefly, before heading to get a wet cloth and towel from the bathroom. Returning, he sat down and began to dab at the blood on his face and the general…wetness of the man.

"Oh, sod it." This was awkward. Why had he taken this guy in again? Even though it had been a decision of his, less than fifteen minutes ago, he still sometimes questioned why he often reacted so brashly. And he couldn't exactly send him off now; he was taking care of a stranger that was probably barely alive.

He sighed, sagged, and went to get a spare pyjama top, jamming it onto the sleeping man and admired his handiwork. No, that was perverted. He blushed and turned away, closing the door on his way out and turning the light off. When he got into his own bed, it was just after 2:00am and he fell asleep almost instantly, barely registering the mess that he so abhorred scattered across his bedroom. He could clean that up later.

-o-

When he woke up, the first thing that Arthur noticed was that it was nine o' clock.

"Holy crap..." he was horribly late for school. And he really couldn't afford to miss his maths exam. He threw himself off the bed and grabbed any clothes that his hands could find and yanked them on clumsily, pushing a piece of bread into the toaster. No. He really couldn't wait for that. He turned it off and crammed the slightly crispy bread into his mouth, running upstairs...and remembered the man in his parent's bedroom.

"Oh, bollocks."

He couldn't miss this exam, but it wasn't wise to leave this stranger at home, either. Deciding on the A-level, he grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the table and scribbled a note with handwriting, as Roderich would say, Franz Josef would have been appalled at. But then, Roderich was a neat-freak.

Hi. Food in fridge. Water in tap. Be back at three. Don't make a mess. Thx. -Arthur

Yes. How rude. But how very efficient.

He smiled and put the note on he bedside table, dashing out the door, arriving at school just as the bell went. School pervert Francis waited at the gates.

"Ah, mon ami, you are late, non?"

"Not yet." he ran past the chuckling Frenchman and to the line for the exam, dropping his bag off in form. Feliciano Vargas, the little Italian that sat next to him in English turned around. "It's so exciting! It's all quiet!"

The tall blond in front of Feliciano turned around and scolded him. "No, it's not exciting. It's an exam. Now concentrate, or you won't get your predicted level."

"Aww...why so serious, Luddy?" The Italian turned round and clasped him around the waist, "I had pasta for breakfast, and if I can for the rest of my life and be with you, then it doesn't matter to me" he watched the German go an impressive shade of crimson.

"R-right...ja...look. We're going in now. Do your best, Feli. I'll see you later." he abruptly turned away, the colour reaching down his neck and coating his ears.

"He's always like that."

"Nein. I am not!"

"Whatever!"

Feliciano shot a grin at Arthur. They started walking to the hall where they would take their first mathematics exam since GCSE. Butterflies raged in his stomach, making him feel sick and turn white. Several others had too. The silence penetrated his very bones as he walked in line and sat down at the desk with the paper on it. Minutes passed. He saw Yao scribbling down answers, but he felt like he had hit a blank wall. Then he looked carefully at the questions, and a lightbulb switched on in his head.

-o-

"Good Lord, that was hard." Tino said over his sandwich at lunch. Everyone nodded in agreement, Berwald shifting closer to him. The exam had lasted three hours and they were all exhausted, but they still had to stay in school for the afternoon. But he was right. The exam had been hard, and none of them were totally expecting to have passed with a C. That is, except Kiku and Yao. They had had no difficulty whatsoever. But then again, that was their areas of speciality. Arthur knew that he would do very well in English, while Francis would do well in French. Similar for Roderich and music, Ludwig and German, Feliciano and art.

Arthur hadn't really spoken as much as e normally would have, and Feliciano noticed this.

"Hey, amico, what's up?"

"Oh...er nothing...well-" he paused, noticing that everyone was listening, "Well...last night. Do you all remember the thunderstorm?"

Elizaveta nodded, "The worst I can remember."

"Yeah, well, some random guy turned up on my driveway just as that huge thunderbolt struck. He's in my house right now, probably still asleep."

They all looked at him and said together, "He fell out of the sky?"

"Yes. I think so."

Gilbert, Ludwig's generally obnoxious brother, laughed and fell onto Arthur's shoulder. "Man, what have you been smoking?"

"I wasn't high, you idiot. He's real and he's still in my house. I'll show you."

"Right." Gilbert chuckled, "After school, we all go round to yours and prove that he's not real, 'kay?"

"Hmmm." Arthur looked down.

Francis sauntered up to him, "I believe you, ami."

"Really?"

"No!" he ran off cackling and without any clothes. Wait, he had been naked? Eww...

"How disgusting."

The bell rang for lessons and the group trudged off through the midgets from the younger years to history.

-o-

"S'." Berwald looked at Arthur, "Yer dr'gged 's out h're fer wh't?"

"To prove that this man is real."

They rounded the corner to face Arthur's house, and were greeted by smashed windows, the door battered and hanging off the frame and the garden wrecked. Arthur, Roderich and Ludwig screamed.

"It's a mess!"

"Good grief..."

"Get it tidied!"

"My parents are due home next week!" Arthur yelled. "Strange person, get out here right now!"

The man crept out. He had replaced his clothes with Arthur's, making a complete mess and his nose still looked a little bit broken. Arthur rushed up to him. "What the bloody hell have you been doing?"

He got a pause from the other, before; "Hello. I'm called Alfred."

"What have you done?"

"I took your advice. Only, what's a tap. And what's a fridge? And who is Arthur? And why do you cover holes in you wall with glass? It's a bit flimsy."

Arthur threw his face into his palms. Looking hopefully at his friends, he smiled uneasily. "Anyone up to helping me tidy up?"

Roderich and Ludwig were into the house in a shot. Some were reluctant, but still helped. Some just walked away.

"Thank you so much." he turned to 'Alfred'. "We need to talk. But first, you're helping me tidy up."

There you are! Terrible writing; I was tired ^_^. And I have chronic writer's block.

My other fic has priority over this, so expect that to be updated before this. And I'm too lazy to check this over at the moment, so any mistakes will hopefully be corrected soon.