Author's note: This is my first Real Life Hetalia fic, please don't flame. Full pairings include (In order of dominance): FrUk, UsCan, PruHun, Spamano, GerIta
"Order for table one Matthew, and you'd better make it quick," Francis only just had time to mention this to his adopted brother as he flew past in the direction of table four.
It was busy today in the New York Café they worked part time in. Getting yourself through college wasn't cheap.
The two only just had time to catch their breath back in the kitchen, before rushing to carry the newly arrived food to the right tables.
Francis was a year older than Matthew, but they both had long blond hair, and similarly coloured blue eyes- Matthew's were just a little closer to a violet colour than Francis'.
They were both sitting literature, and the job they needed to support themselves was not helped by the large amount of workload they were given from week to week.
"Doing anything after, or are you coming back to the apartment after this?" Matthew asked as he shot past with his hands full to the brim with plates of steaming food.
They're parents were often away on business so they'd left Matthew and Francis their City apartment for while they were at college; with the condition they didn't bring girls back.
This was okay for Matthew who never brought anyone back anyway, and Francis argued that bringing boys back with him wasn't the same thing.
"No, I'm meeting up with friends" Francis winked, spinning to avoid one of the other waiters, "Gilbert swears he's having an early mid-life crisis."
Matthew distantly knew Francis friends, and he didn't think much of them; they made too much noise and were far too messy. Francis never tidied up the apartment which only left more for Matthew you do.
"Sorry there!" A waiter exclaimed almost walking into Matthew. Matthew was just one of those people you didn't really notice till you walked into them.
When Matthew had first moved in with them when Francis was seven, Francis had joked for months that he could never find Matthew around the house.
He'd stopped when he'd found out it was because Matthew had been crying in the laundry cupboard. Both Matthew's parents had died in a plane crash; he'd been at home with a child sitter so hadn't been on the flight. But he'd heard that very few people survived the crash.
After that Francis had been a perfect brother, always watching out for Matthew at school, beating up anyone that dared make fun of him.
They'd moved from France to New York when Francis was fifteen and Matthew was fourteen, but Francis had never quite dropped the accent or habit of swearing or exclaiming in French.
Matthew had been from Canada originally so he was already fluent in both English and French.
The clock ticked on to Six o'clock signalling the end of their exhausting shift.
Matthew and Francis parted ways at the door; Matthew to head back to the apartment to finish his college work, and Francis to deal with his friends.
Francis checked his watch waiting for the bus to take him to where Gilbert had told him and Antonio to meet him.
Public transport never arrived on time when you needed it to.
He wasn't quite sure what it was that was upsetting Gilbert so much, but over the phone he'd sounded close to tears.
Gilbert was studying engineering at the college, and Antonio was in the Literature class with Francis. Of course neither of those two took their work very seriously. Gilbert was only there because his parents in Germany had insisted he and his brother do the course, and Antonio just wanted to get through it and move back to Spain.
But Francis didn't really mind New York. He wasn't overly fond of America, but New York wasn't too bad. He liked all the helter-skelter going on around him, and the availability or partners when you felt a little lusty.
The bus arrived.
With a thankful sigh, Francis hopped through the electric sliding door without checking first. He crashed straight into another boy who looked about his age.
Rubbing his head, Francis held out his hand to help the other boy up. If he'd been in slightly less of a rush he might have stopped to flirt with this messy haired blond boy, he was very cute; and Francis didn't recognise him from college.
"Watch where you're going you bastard!" The boy snapped, slapping Francis' hand away and getting up by himself. His accent was so delightfully British that it was no guess where he was from.
"My sincerest apologies" Francis bowed with a scowl, before pushing past the boy.
"Arty you shouldn't be so rude" he heard another boy telling the blond one.
The British complained about everyone going into their country, then began to pop up everywhere else. Stupid hypocrites.
Call him stereotypical, but Francis did find the British irritating.
He paid for his ticket then found a seat next to a nice looking woman who had blushed at him. Francis would make do with either be it male or female, as long as they were good looking and ready to receive his advances.
By the time he reached his stop he'd extracting the woman's address and phone number; considering she was married, Francis saw this as an achievement; he and Matthew were almost complete opposites. Apart from their taste.
The only person apart from himself he'd allow to pick out a wardrobe or meal was Matthew.
Locating the right café Francis pushed through the door spotting Gilbert, and Antonio who'd already arrived.
"So what's wrong?" Francis slipped into the seat opposite the two of them.
Antonio and a comforting arm round Gilbert's shoulders, while Gilbert sobbed into the table. This must be bad Francis had never seen Gilbert like this before.
"You remember that girl he told us about" Antonio spoke for his friend, "well... I was in the music room the other day testing out the guitars, and that Roderich guy he went to school with was in there, and so was she."
Gilbert gave a depressed wail.
"I went to find Antonio and saw them!" He threw back his head, throwing his arms in the air, "Apparently she's transferred here to study music with him!"
The girl they were referring to, was a monster of a her kind, that Gilbert and his brother had been to school with (along with the Roderich boy who was sitting music).
Eliza and Gilbert had tormented one another through their school years, and graduated with strong words between them and Gilbert had seen that as the last of it.
Until now.
"I knew she fancied him" Gilbert pouted, "she always did back in school, but I never thought she'd transfer here to be with him."
Francis sighed, ordering three coffees from the waitress.
"Well at least she isn't in your class" he comforted, "and music is nowhere near the engineering class."
Francis didn't see why Gilbert and Eliza would ever need to cross paths; it was a big college.
"You guys don't get it" Gilbert mumbled miserably, "I want to spend time with her..." His voice got quieter as he sank lower into his seat.
Antonio and Francis exchanged glances.
"Are you serious?" Francis asked disbelievingly, "I thought you hated her?"
"I do... I mean... It's really confusing." Gilbert grabbed his coffee from the waitress with a growl.
"Sorry about him" Antonio apologised smiling a winning smile at the woman who blushed.
Antonio was almost as good at this as Francis. The only difference being that Francis knew Antonio wasn't quite as dominating as Francis in relationships. He'd even admitted to having bottomed a few times in sex.
"Well I thought..." Gilbert looked at them hopefully, "you know gay guys are meant to be better at this sort of sensitive advice than straight ones..."
"I'm not gay" Francis denied, "I like both, and I there is nothing sensitive about what I do,"
"I was talking to Antonio" Gilbert dismissed, waving Francis away.
"Me?" Antonio looked embarrassed, "I don't know, I've never tried to date anyone who hates me..."
"Lie" Francis accused, smirking when Antonio scowled at him.
"He doesn't hate me" Antonio insisted, "he just doesn't know how to express his feelings!"
Francis and Gilbert shook their heads, they'd seen the interaction between Antonio and the 'love of his life' Lovino. It didn't look like that boy was struggling with anything.
Antonio only got what he'd been asking for though. He had been trying to date Lovino's younger brother until recently, so it was understandable why Lovino wasn't too keen on Antonio's suddenly redirected advances.
They talked for a bit longer about work and college and a few cute men or women they'd seen around town, before heading for home.
Antonio headed back to the college where he was living, while Gilbert and Francis caught a cab to get them back to their apartments. It was easier sharing; that way they could split the price.
"I don't wanna go home" Gilbert complained, "Lud's going to start making me finish that work we were set."
But when the cab pulled up outside Gilbert's apartment, Ludwig's car wasn't there.
Francis shrugged at his friend before extracting the cash for Gilbert's half of the fare and heading back to his own apartment.
Dropping his keys off by the door Francis could smell something good cooking; Matthew must have started making dinner.
"What you making Matthew?" Francis asked, following his nose into the kitchen where Matthew was stirring something over the stove.
Matthew smiled welcomingly when he saw his brother, "I thought beef bourguignon would be nice" he replied, continuing with his stirring. "Do anything interesting with your friends?"
Francis slumped into a chair by the table, "not really, I did bump into some British prat on the bus though."
Matthew shot him a look, "you know full well him being British doesn't make him a prat" he scolded, lifting the pot from the oven and placing it down carefully on the table before heading over to the cupboards to fetch two bowls.
"Yeah well he accent suggested otherwise" Francis muttered, helping himself to a generous amount of the food, licking his lips.
"Bon Appetit" Matthew cut him off before he could mutter anything else about the British.
The two enjoyed their meal in silence, apart from the occasional mention from Francis that a bit more Bay leaf would have made it a little better.
It was moments like this when Matthew really noticed how empty the apartment seemed. It wasn't like he hadn't had the time to get used to it, but it must have been hard for Francis; their parents (especially because they were his birth parents) had never been around much.
After dinner they watched the television for a bit before trudging off to bed, struggling to keep their eyes open.
Their classes started bright and early. So they set the alarm.
"You were very rude to that guy Arty," Alfred shook his head, watching Arthur scowl at people walking past.
He'd wanted to make a good impression now he was back in the country of his birth; but doing that with this Brit by his side was going to be difficult.
They were adopted brothers, both of them adopted by their parents.
Alfred was used to Arthur's negative attitude to everything he didn't trust by now, but he wished his brother wouldn't make his distaste so obvious.
He was probably just upset because that French boy ran into him earlier on when they were getting off the bus.
They'd just transferred to New York to study literature.
Alfred knew Arthur had wanted to go to Manchester University, but he didn't want to be separated from his brother.
Although Arthur was slightly older than him, Alfred always found his brother to be much more dependable on him for everything.
Alfred didn't mind because he'd always felt over protective of his brother anyway. They'd been through so much together that it was understandable that they were close.
"Do you want to eat out, or do you want to go back to our college room and eat there?" Alfred asked. Keeping in mind that they only had a few eggs and a carton of milk past its sell by date.
"College room" Arthur sniffed, "we can make scrambled eggs."
Alfred felt his stomach churn a little at the thought, but he supposed he could buy a can of coke from the vending machine and use that to wash it down.
Their new neighbour; a Spaniard by the sound of it actually ran to be sick when Alfred told him what they were having while Arthur fumbled for their new keys.
They'd moved in late yesterday, and began classes tommorow.
The Literature thing had been a compromise. Alfred wanted to go to college in America, Arthur wanted to do literature.
"No alcohol on campus" Alfred smirked, watching Arthur pull a bottle from the fridge. He'd had a feeling the Brit would try to sneak that in.
Arthur flicked a finger up at him, and held the bottle to his lips taking a quick swig before looking around for the eggs and milk.
"Wish I'd given that Frog a whack round the head," Arthur slurred slightly as he spoke- he'd never admit that he was a light weight.
"Then we might never have gotten off that bus, he didn't look like he liked the sound of you either" Alfred toasted, before drinking from his coke.
"This is the thing," Arthur broke the first egg and missed the bowl, "all the French are racist bastards,"
"And the English are all hypocrites" Alfred shrugged, getting up to direct Arthur to the battered looking sofa while he made the scrambled eggs. "You'd better not have a hangover tommorow,"
"I've only had a sip!" Arthur argued, looking longingly back at the fridge where he'd stowed the bottle. Alfred lifted his eyebrows but said nothing.
The scrambled eggs tasted foul, and their taste buds were only just about soothed by the coke and a glass of water (Alfred wasn't letting Arthur anywhere near that bottle in the fridge).