Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its contents.
- Hetalia! -
Alfred F. Jones. Yup, that's his name. Alfred… What a familiar name. Arthur scratched the tip of his nose as he curiously eyed the package that was addressed to him. The young man picked up the bundle before him delicately, and turned it in different angles, a bit suspicious of the thing. Francis had delivered it reluctantly to him that foggy morning while he was delivering breakfast.
"Arthur, Arthur! Let zown ze vushy eyevrows ov yours so I can give you vreakfast!" Arthur shoved open the windows in irritation, sticking his head out, trying to spot the annoying Frenchman from atop his tower. "Fucking git! My eyebrows are perfectly normal, thank you!" He spat out once he spotted the said man tapping his foot impatiently. Francis looked up, waving a basket in the air. "I zon't care vat you zay avout zous caterpillars. Now 'urry up and take ze vood vefore I eat it myself," he sang, doing an unnecessary hair flip. Arthur grabbed the rope that was hanging on the hook next to the window, and threw it outside, letting it plummet towards the ground. Francis avoided getting hit by the rope this time (much to Arthur's disappointment), and quickly tied the basket onto it. "'Ave a nice vreakfast, Mon Angleterre!~" Francis called out. Suddenly, before he turned around to leave, he added with slight hesitance: "Oh and you 'ave a package addressed to you. I zidn't open it zis time so zon't vorry. Now ta-ta!" And with that, the man was out of sight.
Arthur munched on his lemon meringue with much vigor. He still hadn't opened the mysterious packaged that was addressed specifically to him. I mean, how did this... Alfred even know that he lived up here in the first place? He was sure that Francis liked to keep Arthur's existence a secret to the outside world. Sure, Mr. Francey-Panty was nice to him, but Arthur eventually found out that it wasn't normal to be trapped in a freaking sixty foot tower away from human contact. Well, he found that out last year when he started reading books. Anyway, by that time, Arthur found also found out that Francis wasn't his real father, and that he very truly wanted to get out of the cage he was trapped in now. He had no idea why the stupid frog wouldn't let him go like normal "parents" were supposed to. I mean, Arthur was old enough! Wasn't twenty two pretty old? (That was rhetorical, don't answer it.)
Finally, Arthur's curiosity got the best of him and he tore open the parcel with caution. His eyes widened at the sight of the box's contents. There was… there was a…. there was….. absolutely nothing. No wait! Arthur shook the box, checking to see if anything other than oxygen would fall out of the case. Indeed, to his delight, there was a flower with a small, red note attached to it. As he opened the note, he noticed that the roses had no thorns on it. That's odd. What stranger would go through the trouble of removing thorns for someone they didn't know? Arthur shrugged it off with a light chuckle and finally revealed to himself what mysteries lay behind that scarlet paper. It read:
"Artie… (That was new, for all of the few letters that Arthur ever received all started with a 'Dear Arthur Kirkland…') my name's Alfred, if you weren't able to find out by now. I get that you're probably thinking something in the lines of: 'WOW! THIS LETTER HAS AWESOMENESS OOZING OUT FROM EVERY CORNER! I WONDER WHO WAS THE AMAZING HERO WHO SENT THIS?'… But, my dear Artie-kins, do not be alarmed, for I am only here to inform you of the undying love I have found myself fallen through. Yes, buddy. For you. I don't know what you look like yet, but I have totally seen you once upon a dream. And indeed your name was Arthur Kirkland in that beautiful dream! Don't think I was always queer or anything. Just saying. When I heard from Mr. Francis talking about how he knew an Arthur Kirkland, I just had to dash home and find a proper way to show my endearing, new-found love for you. Please. Go ahead. Consider yourself the luckiest man on Earth. Until next time, I will continue to blindly love you.
~Alfred Fucking Jones~ "
Arthur, only after he finished reading, noticed that his eye was twitching furiously. How could so much idiotic phrases fit on that one poor, tiny piece of paper? The world my never know. He fished out a pen from his drawer and wrote a reply neatly on the back of the note. He kept the rose, and in place of it, he tied on a small sack full of money. His message stated:
"Dear Mr. Jones,
Please, for the sake of all humanity, get laid. I have here provided you with a bit of money so you can afford a prostitute for yourself. Thank you.
With much sincerity,
Arthur Kirkland "
Clearly satisfied with himself, the Brit repackaged his response mail, and tucked it away so that he could ask the frog to deliver it to Alfred the next time he decided to come. That was Mr. Kirkland's highlight of the day, and so the rest of it flew by like it normally did. (With the exceptions of Arthur throwing the package down to Francis when he dropped by, unmistakably hitting the twat on his "beautiful" face.)
Almost a month passed by, and Arthur had long forgotten about his strange pursuer. He had forgotten just twenty seven hours after he sent his reply, in fact. He did not expect to find an undeniably annoyed Francis grumbling at him that "Alfred haz begged me nonstop to send zis reply to you vor avout three veeks now. What doez that boy possibly see in you?" and then Arthur spit in his eye in retort. Unwillingly, Arthur once again opened the bundle to find another rose with a scarlet note attached to it.
"Artie! Sorry dude! I tried getting laid, but the other dudes totally rejected me. I'll save the money for when we get married, 'kay? Kay babe. Love 'ya too. OH I almost forgot! I keep seeing you in my dreams. LOL dude. Shave you brows when you get the time. See you!
~~ "
Arthur sighed for the umpteenth time that week, and flipped the paper over to its backside. He wrote in vibrant letters:
"Mr. Jones,
I have yet to inform you that I do not know who you are, and I am not eager to find out, either. So, please get a girlfriend or something of the sort. I am not interested in relationships with anybody, currently. And to add on, my eyebrows are completely normal, so bugger off, you wanker.
With utmost sincerity,
Arthur Kirkland "
- Hetalia! –
And so the rest of March flew by with more imprudent letters and beautiful, trimmed flowers. Although, he would never admit it, these irrational letters were the main part of the reasons that Arthur would look forward to waking up in the mornings. They were silly, yes, but at the same time, they were amusing to read. Every time he received a reply to the last note that was sent, Arthur would always eagerly detach the message from the flower, and smirk to himself at how adorably idiotic this Alfred was. (Adorable in a bad way! What are you people thinking?)
In fact, he was so amused that he hardly noticed how Francis was becoming more and more bothered by the mail that was constantly being passed back and forth through him. The Frenchman's aggravation seemed to lower a bit when Alfred began to send less and less epistles to his dear Arthur. One day, somewhere during the middle of April (yes, he kept track), Arthur noticed that the letters stopped altogether. Thoroughly disheartened by this realization, he figured that Mr. Jones must have gotten weary of reading Arthur's cold remarks. With nothing better to do, he disbursed his time by reading poetry and other genres of literature that seemed to accompany his gloomy mood.
It was April 21st, exactly two days before his birthday, Arthur was enjoying a suspenseful chapter in his all-time favorite, Hamlet, when a voice called out from below:
"Arthur, Arthur, let zown ze rope ov yours, so I can bring up ze vreakfast!"
Arthur hesitated before moving. That was… weird. Francis had just said the exact same thing about two hours ago. Why did he need to come back to deliver more food? Especially since the git preferred his precious food over Arthur himself. Instead of throwing down the rope, his butt still glued in his comfy couch, Arthur replied by hollering:
"Go suck a fairy's arse, you ninny! I don't need another round of that disgusting French cuisine!"
There was silence. The same silence carried out for about another half an hour until there was a loud shattering noise in the bedroom area of the tower. Arthur whipped his head around, alarmed by the sudden sound.
"Wh- who's there?" he squeaked, trying to sound as menacing as possible, (which was kinda hard to do in his situation).
"DDDDDDDDDDDDDD—SORRY DUDE I THINK I KINDA BROKE YOUR SISSY VASE!" Arthur literally jumped up in his seat when he actually received a response to his question. Gathering his courage, he stood slowly from his sofa and grabbed one of the hardened scones he had baked about three months ago. Cautiously, Arthur inched his way into his bedroom, ready to throw the scone at whoever the intruder was. Indeed, when he saw who it was, he did just that.
Sitting on his bed was a youth with bright blond hair and a smile that could rival a Spaniard's. That's all Kirkland took in before he hurled the scone at the poor victim and blacked out completely.
- Hetalia! –
Groaning, I opened my eyes, rubbing the back of my head. Shit, I thought, how did I end up on sleeping on the floor? I looked out the window. It was still daylight. Suddenly, something grasped my shoulder, and without turning around, I shrieked bloody murder.
"Woah, dude! Calm your tits! You okay, bro?" The culprit asked me from behind, his… hand still on my arm. Taking a deep breath, I turned my head to take a look at this intruder. I blinked slowly and did a double, no, a triple take before I had fully grasped at what was going on.
"You—you're that rapist wanker that snuck into my house and broke my antique vase!" I gasped horrified. He was American. Too American. I pulled away from his grasp before he could touch me anywhere else. Thinking fast, he grabbed at my waist and pulled me back down onto the floor. My eyes widened.
"!" I screeched, flailing my arms around hopelessly. The rapist still didn't loosen his grip. "Let go of me RIGHT NOW YOU BLOODY WANKER!" I cried out, "Or.. Or I'll.. THROW ANOTHER SCONE AT YOU!" The sucker loosened his grip to wince. (I admit I was just mildly offended). I grabbed another ancient scone to prove my point.
"Okay, okay, I'll let go! Just don't throw that creature at me!" he surrendered, throwing his hands up in the air. I had briefly forgotten there was such thing as gravity before it pulled me down and slapped the wooden floor on my arse. Rubbing it in pain, I scooted up into the opposite side of the chamber, and from the shadows, I glared at him who had caused me much pain. Oblivious to my killer glare, the young fellow looked around the place, nodding, like he owned it.
"Hmm… This is actually a pretty nice place. A bit tacky, but nice, overall," the man said, looking back at me. I was more than confused. The American sat down on my favorite couch, and smiled, hands clasped together on his crossed knees.
"Well, it seems you aren't going to be leaving any sooner, so I might as well hear an explanation as to why you are invading my home," I mumbled, not amused by the fellow's enthusiasm. Said man grinned even wider than before and began to speak.
"Alrighty, then! I knew you were gonna give in sometime later! Okay, so you know who I am, right? (I shook my head) What? You don't remember? Oh wait, you've never seen me before. Ha ha. Just testing you, buddy. I'm Alfred F. Jones, and I'm here to be your hero and take you away and marry you and all that other lovey-dovey shit!" Alfred, who was clearly finished with his speech, cleared his throat and looked me in the eye, expectantly. I face-palmed.
"YOU are the Alfred that's been sending me those creepy letters? Well, damn. Lad, you best be heading home. It's going to get dark soon. Now shoo! Back out the windo- Hell, how did you even get inside?" I questioned, utterly baffled. Alfred chuckled and pounded himself in the chest with his fist.
"The amazing me climbed here, duh~! That's just how awesome I am," he boasted before I had a chance to say more. How rude.
"Okay, so all I'm asking you to do is to get your fat ass back out the window from where you came from!" Okay, maybe I was a bit… harsh on the kid. His smile faltered, and the glint in his eyes darkened. I was pretty close to taking back the words I had just thrown at him. I mean, come one! The chap was probably under-aged for all I knew!
Before I could lecture him any more about barging into strangers' households, Alfred had already stuck his right leg out the window. After I observed this, everything spun out of control. The boy leaped to his "freedom" and yelped when he saw that I had grabbed onto his pant leg. I think it was him. It was either him or me who did. Wide-eyed, I tried to jump back into the tower, but once again, Gravity became a bitch and threw us to our deaths.