Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. If I did, I would own the world. /BWAHAHA.

First story, please review!

Arthur Kirkland never thought he would find himself here. The rails thudding loudly against the bottom of the train were so rhythmic he had lost track of the time. His thin fingers clenched onto the handle of the warm teacup on his lap, careful not to spill. God knows that would be such a waste of perfectly fine tea. He was traveling north for what seemed liked days now and even though that seemed like enough time to prepare he still had no bloody clue what he was going to say when he finally hit his destination.

It had been years since he had set foot on this godforsaken land. And like hell did he want to pack his things and return home. Just another hundred miles or so and it would be over. Or actually everything would just begin.

Arthur—who had been looking outside his window at the passing scenery in a daze—was brought out of his thoughts when he heard a muffled 'Amazing Grace' coming from his pants pocket. He swallowed thickly when he realized who it was.

"Hello?" he answered, his voice more strained than he wished it would be.

"Did you not get enough sleep or somethin'? You sound friggin' exhausted! Was there something wrong with the pillows? Or was it the bed? Was the ride to bumpy?! I can fire whoever's—"

Arthur grimaced and pulled the phone away from his ear, rubbing his temple in frustration.

"Alfred, will you shut your bloody yap?" the man seethed through the receiver. "I just have a migraine,"—or at least now I do, Arthur thought to himself bitterly—"what in God's name do you want?"

Alfred Jones ran his fingers through his golden locks as he thought of the right words to say. He hesitated for a second. Just for a second. "Jus' wanted to see how far away you are," he finally said.

On the other end Arthur rolled his eyes and muttered something about the Queen and having patience. Whatever, Alfred thought to himself as he pulled out a hamburger from under his pillow. He took a bite.

"I should be there soon. Just don't act like a bleeding fool when I get there, okay? Now let me sleep."

Beep.

Arthur shut his phone and leaned against the window. It was pitch black and the stars that were visible were shooting by so fast he barely had time to acknowledge them. Tearing his eyes away from the window he hunched over, his head in his hands.

Sleep was definitely out of the question.

Alfred's bright blue eyes scanned his cell phone's screen which read:

-- Arthur (: Call ended

—————

00:01:02

"Well damn, I bet those stupid Brits aren't rude like that to their fucking imaginary friends. Jesus," the fair haired man muttered angrily to himself as he slumped against the wall. People don't just hang up on heroes. It wasn't right. He was Alfred fucking Jones—America dammit!

Snorting angrily, Alfred's eyes wandered over to his window.

It was still dark. In the morning he would Arthur after, what? Years? Decades? It had been too long, that was all Alfred knew.

And he had never been so nervous in his life.

The next morning Arthur found himself sprawled—rather uncomfortably—beside the window. He checked his wristwatch.

9:50.

Bloody hell.

Just a few more miles now. Arthur could feel his throat tighten. He wasn't ready for this. He didn't know what he was going to say. He didn't know what he would find when he finally arrived. More importantly, he didn't know what he would feel. Above all things, he hoped that his stupid emotions would get the better of him. He had to be refined in times like these. But after being apart for so long he didn't think that would be possible.

An image of Alfred's face came into view crystal clear in his thoughts. Arthur's face burned.

It definitely wasn't going to be possible.