A/N: Just a random song ficlet that I wrote on the spot after hearing The Script's "Man Who Can't Be Moved," hence the title. If you haven't heard the song, I highly suggest you listen to it before reading this... it'll make a bit more sense. Maybe. Un-beta'ed, so I apologize for any mistakes.

Warnings: Fluff. Arthur's potty mouth.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. I don't own the song "Man Who Can't Be Moved." So there.

EDIT: I was recently informed that The Script is Irish... so I've cut out the part that says it's American. My bad.


Alfred F. Jones shuffled through the streets of London with a backpack over one shoulder and a sleeping bag in his arms. A light breeze stung his flushed cheeks as raindrops began to fall delicately to the ground.

Yet he trudged onwards to his destination with determination. Alfred shivered and pulled his bomber jacket tighter around himself, squinting to see through his rain-spotted glasses.

Recognizing the familiar café, Alfred smiled. Today was his day.


Arthur Kirkland woke up with a massive headache, and, recalling the previous night's events, groaned. For once he wished he had been hung over instead.

They were over. Done. Through. He lost Alfred. Why?

A bloody song.

Somehow, playful bickering about some cheesy song had led to a full out, hurtful fight that ultimately ended their relationship of over 300 years. And Arthur was pissed.

Sure, he'd insulted Hollywood.

But Alfred insulted the Sex Pistols, and that's something you can't do. Ever.

Soon the slights had become less light-hearted and friendly, and more personal.

The last thing Arthur remembered telling Alfred was that he was a 'selfish, unappreciative, uneducated wanker that doesn't deserve the love of a house fly, much less that of Britannia.'

And then Arthur left.

So, it was a stupid thing to get into a fight over, and Arthur knew that, but that didn't mean he was about to apologize.

He made himself a cup of tea and sat down on his nice, clean couch. He could definitely get used to being able to sit down without having to shove Alfred off first. Of course he could.

Arthur turned on the television with a sigh, and took a sip of his scalding hot tea.

Which he prompted spat back out after seeing the news story.

"Bloody… Fuck!" He cursed, not only at the hot liquid burning through his pyjama pants, but also the familiar face that grinned at him from the screen.

"…See, I'm waiting here for Arthur, my boyfriend! He's kinda' mad at me, though. But I looooooooooooooooo~ve him! Hey Artie, are ya' watchin? I know you always watch the news when ya first get up! Didja' hear that? I love you!"

That stupid prat was calling him out on national television? How dare he! Why was Alfred on the news, anyway? Arthur ignored his burning cheeks and racing heart.

And then he heard it, that stupid song. It was playing on a radio beside a backpack and sleeping bag next to one of his favourite cafés.

That prick!

"…I'll be here until he comes by, and I'm not moooooooving~!"

Arthur felt his eye twitch and his cheeks flush even darker as Alfred began to sing along with the song. That was the last straw.

Pulling on some jeans and a sweatshirt, Arthur stormed out of his front door towards the little café just a few blocks away.

He was going to pummel that git.


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