Authors Notes:

Hi guys, this is the first story I've ever uploaded anywhere before, so any feedback or comments would be great, cheers! Feel free to ask any questions if you're unsure about anything said in the story and I hope you all enjoy! :) Also, there's quite a lot of couples in this, though many are either one-sided or implied background romances. Couples essential to the story shall be listed in the chapter that they appear in. But yes, there are MalexMale couples and FemalexMale couples too. Any sentences written in italics are character thoughts, but if an entire paragraph is in italics and between two brackets, then its historical information important to the story.

Disclaimer - I do not own any of the Hetalia axis characters, they belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland belong to their respective fan made owners too, and not myself.

Chapter1 – England Waits

The personification of England was well known for his stuffiness, scathing sarcasm and general tsundere attitude, so it came as a bit of a shock to everyone when England agreed to host a party for the European countries – especially considering France was the one who asked the blond Brit! Really the entire thing had been France's idea, but the twenty-six-year-old Parisian didn't want to host any parties at his place for some reason (though it might have to do with a certain Spaniard and Prussian who had found their way into France's private wine cellar during the last party France had hosted…). Why the party was being carried out was anyone's guess, but essentially there'd been a week of G8 meetings, followed by a week and a half of World conferences which had left more than a few countries contemplating murder and/or suicide and fast approaching their maximum stress limits, which had a tendency to end with declarations of war being issued. So, naturally, France decided that a party should be thrown, because well, why not? However, the Parisian was more than sick to death of a few certain countries, so France made his point very clear than only the countries of Europe were invited, stressing that by that he meant proper European countries and not strange countries that had somehow or another ended up in the European Union. Now, technically speaking, England did not consider himself to be European by any stretch of the imagination (and his older brothers found the idea of being classed as European countries even more absurd than England did – hell, some of them got flat out insulted by the very suggestion!), so the only reason he was even at the damned party was because it was being held in his country!

England truly was doing his best to pay attention to the current conversation going on around him, though his mind had long since began to wander off. One of his closest friends - the personification of Belgium - had started the conversation, something to do with chocolate and which brand made the best tasting hot chocolate. Canada would've loved this conversation if he'd been here. England did atleast contribute to the conversation, he voiced his opinion on Galaxy hot chocolate, which he stated was far too sweet for his tastes. Belgium had agreed with him, chuckling when she commented that her personal favourite was dark, bitter chocolate. Netherlands had simply shrugged and claimed he liked the cheapest brand best, which earned him a gentle scolding from Belgium and a roll of England's eyes. Luxembourg himself claimed not to be picky on any specific brand, but then Luxembourg was the shiest out of himself, Netherlands and Belgium, not to mention the youngest, so he usually took the middle ground between the two on most ordinary, everyday things. Resisting the urge to click his tongue, the green eyed Brit sipped his champagne, wishing it was ale instead, needing a stiff drink to help him settle his nerves. Using his free hand, he fiddled with his tie, loosening it ever so slightly as he gazed around the large ballroom.

He was proud of the effort he'd put into decorating the place, but in truth France had done most of it himself because he hijacked everything, claiming the "British had no sense of style", to which England had looked France up and down, folded his arms over his chest, sneered and said "if that's what the French consider to be fashionable, then I'm quite happy to have no sense of style.".

The room was large and spacious, with a high ceiling and glass chandelier hanging from way up high, yet the room was flooded with yellow light, casting everyone's shadows onto the neutral coloured walls. The high-heels of the women's shoes clicked against the marble flooring, but no one could hear it over the orchestra that played melodiously in the background but not loud enough to drown out any conversations. But even the lilting tones, as sweet as they were, could do nothing to sooth England's fraying nerves; he'd had a row with his eldest brother, Scotland, over the phone a few hours ago – mainly because he was refusing to do his share of the paperwork from their boss – and naturally the argument had ended in shouting generally unpleasant (and usually very unnecessary) insults back and forth at one another, until England eventually grew too fed up to care and hung up on his irritating older brother. Though Scotland wasn't the only sibling to be pissing England off lately – all of his older siblings were suddenly living with him, atleast for a short while, and it was pushing England's stress levels to a new, unexplored frontier.

"Hey Arthur?" Belgium lightly touched his arm, giving him a worried look. "Are you alright? You've been very quiet lately…"

England blinked in surprise. "Oh, have I? Sorry love, I didn't realise."

"I don't think I've seen your big brother tonight either." Belgium pushed on.

"My big brother…? Which on-! Oh, you mean that one..." England shrugged. "The Republic of Ireland informed me he had a migraine and could not attend tonight. I'll tell him you were asking after him, shall I?"

Belgium shook her head, still worried about her friend. "No, that's alright. I just thought it might have something to do with why you seem so…"

"I'm fine Belgium dear, honestly." England replied, perhaps a tad curtly.

He hadn't meant to be snappy with Belgium, honestly he hadn't, but England was lying through his teeth about being fine. He was far, far from it and had been for a few months now, even before his brothers all turned up on his doorstep. He was pretty sure this supposed migraine his Republican brother had was more likely a hangover, which would also explain Scotland's especially crabby mood today and why neither Wales nor Northern Ireland had been awake before England left to decorate the ballroom – his brothers must have gone out drinking last night and didn't even bother to tell him they were going out, let alone invite their little brother! The Englishman wasn't surprised in the least, but that didn't stop him feeling hurt. He wished Portugal were here, but he'd come down with the flu a week ago and so he'd gone home – the men had nodded, all sage like, claiming they understood how crippling and terrible man-flu could be, to which the women had all rolled their eyes and shook their heads, still adamant in their belief that "man flu" was utter nonsense.

Deciding he needed fresh air, he meandered his way through the conversing groups of country personifications and headed for a large glass door that lead out onto a large balcony; on the way, he felt a strong slap on his back but when he turned, he came face to face with a smirking Prussia, who'd merely winked at England.

I don't even want to know, England thought to himself.

Once outside, he deeply breathed in the evening air of London. It was currently mid-June, so the evenings were getting lighter with each passing day and even in England the weather was notably improving – now they had warm rain! But the rain had held off this evening, though England found himself wishing it hadn't. A good old fashioned thunder storm would be really nice right about now…! Waiting for his date to arrive was really starting to bother England; his date was never late! Well, technically she wasn't late yet, but the evening sure was dragging on and he wished she'd arrive early, so he'd have someone he could talk/complain to more…freely.

"You know you have something on your back, right?" Denmark was suddenly behind England, chuckling.

England's face flushed a deep red, more out of anger than embarrassment, as he snatched the piece of paper off the back of his suit; it read "Sir Stick-up-his-arse" and was written in France's handwriting.

"That bloody Prussian bastard!" England snapped. "I just knew he put something on my back!"

While England did consider Prussia to be his friend (or at the very least, a good drinking buddy), the albino did have a nasty habit of having a bit of a personality change whenever he was with the other two members of the "Bad Touch Trio". Granted, he'd apologize to England for any dickish behaviour whenever they drank together, but it still annoyed England.

The blond Dane tilted his head to the side, hands raised in surrender. "Whoa England calm down! You okay friend? You've been in a real weird mood lately and we haven't been out for drinks in ages!"

"Sorry, I've had…a lot on my mind." England sighed.

England left it at that and Denmark didn't push the issue– he'd known the Englishman (and his brother Scotland, amusingly) long enough to know not to push a British person to speak about something they don't want to. Scotland and England were identical in that regard, though neither would admit to that and Denmark may be a bit scatter brained at times, but he wasn't stupid enough to point out any similarities between the Kirkland siblings. But even so, much like Belgium, he was worried about his English friend, and Norway was worried about him too, so naturally that made Denmark worry all the more.

Suddenly, a flash of movement from inside the ballroom caught the blond Brit's eye and he made a beeline into the room, startling Denmark, for he'd never seen the Englishman walk so briskly before – hell, he was almost, almost running! Inside! England had always been very particular about not doing that!

Denmark wasn't the only one caught off guard by England's sudden surge of enthusiasm, for as he wove his way through the crowd, he collided with more than just a few of them but he didn't stop to apologize, simply kept speeding towards the large staircase. Some of the nations followed England's movements with their eyes and wondered why he suddenly froze at the base of the staircase, one hand holding the railing while he gazed upwards, trying not to sway on the spot. When their gazes travelled to the top of the stairs, they felt their breath hitch in their throats and their eyes widened.

England's date had arrived.