A/N: So I really wanted to upload this 'cuz I've had it half finished for forever. Further description below. As always, I don't own Hetalia or any of its characters; I just like laughing at them.

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England's eyes shot open at the sound; with half-awake awareness, he scanned his room. It had sounded like his door closing, but he was pretty sure he had closed it the night before. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, the Brit yawned and glanced over at his alarm clock.

6:28. I might as well start getting ready for the world meeting.

The man shrugged his Union Jack comforter off, slipping into his plaid slippers and shuffling into the kitchen. With practiced ease, Arthur filled a kettle with water and placed it on the stove-top before retreating to the pantry. He plucked a seemingly random tea bag from the hundreds that littered the shelf, but he knew exactly the flavor that he would soon be acquainting himself with. Leaving the bag on the counter next to his favorite mug-a highly stylized image of Shakespeare-Arthur retreated to the bathroom.

Performing a few of his morning rituals, the Brit was about to look in the mirror for any dried drool that may have accumulated during the night when his cat practically screamed up at him from the floor.

"Alright, alright, Harry, I'll get you your food," England bent down to rub his Scottish Fold's head. "Just let me dress, then we'll get you fed."

The Brit returned to his bedroom and dressed for the day, making sure to look his best, as a gentleman like him always did. He considered looking into the mirror to see which tie went better with this dark brown sweater vest, but the white and orange cat circling his ankles made it clear that he would starve to death if he didn't receive his food soon.

Deciding on a solid, light brown tie, Arthur walked to the kitchen, checked on his tea water, then brought the cat food bag down from the top shelf of the pantry.

"Who's hungry, hm?"

Meoow

England smiled to himself as he poured the dry food into a tin bowl, setting it down on the ground; Harry pounced upon it, seemingly grumbling between bits. Putting the food away, the Brit heard the kettle begin to whistle.

"Perfect timing."

He spent the next half hour sipping at his silver needle white tea and petting Harry, gazing outside his home's bay window. It was rainy, as usual, but Arthur had long grown comfortable with the pitter patter of raindrops. After finishing his drink, he completed the rest of his morning rituals; ensuring that he had an umbrella in hand, the Brit bid goodbye to his cat and hurried out to his car in the downpour. While it was slightly annoying to have to drive to the meeting every time it was hosted in his nation, Arthur was glad he didn't have to stay in a hotel like the rest of the nations.

The drive to the meeting was short, but certainly not sweet; water was coming down so hard that England could barely see out the front window, the thought of trying to see out his mirrors completely null. Rain pelted Arthur's poor Mini Cooper from every angle, and it seemed like pure magic that the man didn't get pushed off the road by raging winds. He made it just in time, however, and exited his car, umbrella overhead. It took a minute of fighting the storm, but Arthur managed to walk in the building's front doors with barely a hair out of place.

"Hello, Miss Thorn, lovely weather we're having," Arthur smiled towards the receptionist in the lobby as he put his umbrella away in a plastic bag.

The young woman looked up from her computer to greet England as she always did; how she reacted, however, was quite out of the ordinary. Miss Thorn gave a loud laugh before slapping a hand to her mouth to stop herself, only succeeding in letting out a snort. She regressed to giggling like a teenager, finally able to control herself after a few moments.

Arthur stared bewildered at the woman during this, quietly slipping away once she had calmed down.

What in the bloody hell was that about? Miss Thorn is usually so much more professional than that... And what was she laughing at?

Heading down the hallway leading to the conference room, England spotted Hong Kong; the British nation nodded towards the familiar face approaching him, but once the man got a good look at Arthur's face, he broke his stoic face to laugh. He brought a hand up over his face, laughing quieter as he hurriedly brushed past the Brit.

Arthur stared after him in confusion.

Him too? What in the world is going on this morning?

Opening the conference room doors, Arthur stepped inside, striding over to his place towards the head of the table. Before he could reach his seat, however, he felt a light tug on his sleeve.

"Hello?"

At first it seemed like he had imagined the touch and voice, but after a few moments of staring at thought to be blank space, Canada materialized.

"Oh, I didn't see you there! My apologies, old boy," England moved to get to his seat, but Matthew held out a hand to stop him. The younger nation's face had a faint dusting of red, almost as if he was straining not to say-or laugh at-something.

"Hi, England, um... You... Do you know about...?" Using both hands, he placed them flat on his forehead over his own eyebrows.

"About what? What are you doing with your hands?" Arthur tilted his head in confusion for a second before narrowing his eyes in annoyance. "Wait, are you trying to portray my eyebrows? That's incredibly rude; besides, they're not even that big!"

"Not anymore they're-"

Before the Canadian could continue, America practically bulldozed over the poor nation to get to England.

"Yo, dude, I totally get it; you want to look cooler. I don't blame you," Alfred began, crossing his arms over his chest. "But you should have to me for Awesome Advice. Losing the sweater vests would have been a great first step."

"Have you gone daft?" Arthur was fed up with the world at this point.

Alfred put his arms up over his eyebrows and looked expectantly at England as if he should know what insulting his facial hair should mean.

"I am getting fed up with this!" Arthur threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "What the Dickens is going on?"

Meanwhile, Germany and North Italy were looking at the spectacle that Arthur was making of himself. Ludwig sighed and shook his head.

"I'll truly never understand British ways. Just when I think I understand their culture, they go and do this."

Feliciano nodded his head, not really listening to what his friend was saying. He quickly tugged on Ludwig's sleeve, face lighting up.

"Doitsuuuu, I know you told me to behave at these meetings, but can I pleeeease make a joke?"

The German shook his head vehemently. "No, we have to respect his decisions and remain professional on others' choices-"

"Holy shit, what did you do to your face?!" Lovino bent over, holding his stomach as his laughter filled the room; Germany shot the Southern Italian a disapproving glare. England looked over at Lovino, angry, but more curious.

"My face?"

"Yes, your goddamned face!" The Italian looked up, only to burst out again. "Are you trying to kill me with laughter? 'Cuz it's working, you eyebrowless son of a bitch!"

"Eyebrowless? What are you-" England was cut short as Canada held up a small hand held mirror he had dug out of his bag. Arthur held the compact in his hand for a few moments, his face completely blank.

He closed the mirror and stared at the space where his reflection had been. After a few seconds, he opened it back up and looked at himself once again. He remained this way for two minutes, during which Germany had to restrain Feliciano from rattling off jokes and Alfred listed several ways in which England could improve himself, most of which included burning all his tea.

"WHAT THE BOLLOCKS IS GOING ON." Arthur finally burst out, dropping the handheld and pacing around. "WHERE ARE MY EYEBROWS?!"

As nearly everyone was focusing on the Brit's breakdown, nobody noticed the nations huddled in the corner of the room, laughing their asses off.

It took a few minutes for the Bad Touch Trio to finally stop laughing before any one of them could speak.

"Muchas gracias you two, this was perfect," Antonio let out a short laugh when he saw England lying on the ground in fetal position. "I've been wanting to get back at that tea-loving puta for the Battle of 1588 for the longest time."

France waved a hand, dismissing the thanks. "No problem, mon ami. I'll use any excuse to get those caterpillars of mon amour's face."

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing you had an extra key to his place, or else I don't know how we'd get in there with anything less than breaking a window," Antonio continued, turning towards his friend. "I really don't think we could have explained our way out of breaking into his house with shaving cream and a razor."

The only one of the trio to remain silent was Prussia; he stared out at the commotion over by Arthur.

Ludwig was frantically trying to get England off of the floor before Ivan could make good on his offer to "take care of" England, da? Alfred was still listing off Arthur-improvements; he was on number 46 now: stop unnecessarily adding the letter 'u' to everything. Lovino was practically in stitches laughing, and Feliciano was red-faced trying to hold in his joke, ready to burst any second-to be honest, it wasn't a very funny joke, but the Italian was super excited at the idea of making his German friend laugh. Hong Kong had returned long enough to snap a few pictures of Arthur on the floor before retreating out again.

After surveying this scene, Gilbert finally spoke.

"This was fun, guys, but we need to up our game," crossing his arms over his chest, an all too familiar smirk spread itself across his lips. "I'm thinking we swap everyone's hotel shampoo bottles with Nair."

So there's this Tumblr post that goes along the lines of this:

What if you woke up one morning and your eyebrows were gone?
Byebrows.

And so yeah, that's how this was born. I really hope you liked it, thank you so much for reading!

Favorite and review if you want, and as always, have a wonderful day!