This was a quick one shot about a head canon I found and loved. Or, at least it was supposed to be a one shot. Of course, I got carried away and now its going to be a full-fledged story. These will be rapidly released since I originally wrote it like one gigantic one shot.

So, here it is.

Someone once asked me,

"Why do you love music so much?"

I replied,

"Because it's the only that stays when everything and everyone is gone."

~Unknown

It had been a long day. Was a long day.

Considering how he had stayed up all night, the day really had been more than just a few hours.

Definitely not his best idea.

America was fidgeting in his seat, the amount of caffeine he had to drink to not fall asleep was enough to kill a man. It wasn't an understatement to say that he should be bouncing off the walls instead of just tapping his foot. He sighed, slumping back as he continued his rapid tapping. The world meeting was as bland as ever, Austria was giving a presentation on the decline of quality music in countries. Not so discreetly glancing at America every so often. What did he do?

What did his people do?

Wasn't it always this way though? America had long since gotten used to words thrown at him.

Might as well catch them with a smile.

Most noticed how France murmured the word "punk" and "dubstep" to England, who looked about ready to blow a fuse as France grinned smugly. Someone cleared their throat, gaining the attention of all but the one needed. America was looking out the window, head on his hands in thought,

Could animals ever learn to sing? I mean, there was the that piano cat and-

"Ahem," this brought America back, looking at the strict blonde who had spoke.

"Yo dude, watcha' need? Cough drop?" Completely oblivious to the frustrated atmosphere, America looked to Germany, who in turn rubbed his temples.

"America, if you v'ould be so kind, please pay attention. We do not have time for z'is!" A couple countries snorted, looking back to the noted Austrian.

"Yes, you should take notes America! I have heard some of your "pop" music and it is absolutely atrocious," America leaned back. Sure he agreed, but with bad ones there were also good mixed in.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry man! Didn't mean to drift, won't happen again," he gave a bright smile, calming his ever building irritation. After a couple more, not so friendly glances, Austria continued to speak. Not listening, America looked to the window, an odd glint flashing in his eyes. He zoned out again, still tapping a steady rhythm out with his foot, starting to hum along with the beat. The presentation, thankfully, was over before he was caught.

"Everybody, it is time for lunch. Please stay in z'e vicinity and be back in no later than an hour. Dismissed!" The nations slowly stood up, gathering in groups before heading out.

"Ve~, Germany, can we go get-a pasta? Or maybe we can-a try some German? What do you think?" The blonde glanced to his Italian friend, nodding in tune to the words.

"I see no problem. V'hat about you Japan?" Japan nodded, the trio heading out. He was followed by England and France, arguing about how English food was good or complete rubbish. Although they fought, they still headed out together, a quiet Canadian following close behind and smiling at their antics. America was left alone in the room after Greece left, putting his notes together in a neat pile before grabbing his conference was in cloudy New York, on a horrible day with the streets packed with cars and pedestrians.

America enjoyed the day though, stepping out to the block and down to a Chinese restaurant around the corner. Sure America liked McDonald's, most Americans did, but he did eat at other places. He knew all the food joints to visit in a town in his country, all those off the charts family-owned ones that just made the best stuff. This one was no exception.

The sound of sizzling food and the aroma of too many spices to tell wafted through the air. America took a deep breath, soaking it all in. His lunch was spent in peace, if you didn't count the many regulars that knew him and the owner coming out to greet him. Mr. Chang, the owner and a absolutely fantastic cook, never seemed to stop when he started talking. Even going into Chinese at some points. Most of the other nations would be shocked to know someone that talks more than America, and that the American knew Chinese. The homey, asian themed restaurant somehow managed to cheer him up, distracting him from just about everything related to the meeting. The chats with Mr. Chang and his customers always did that, make him forget his worries.

These were his people.

Lately, the nations had really been harping on his people. Their customs, their attitudes, their inventions, their art. He could't quite put two and two together lately with the others, just what was their problem? Deciding that this was a dangerous topic, he finished his food and took the bill with a laugh from the waiter.

Walking out, the blonde's smile was contagious. It was just so annoyingly happy you couldn't help but smile yourself. It infected the people he passed, too blinded by his optimism to care. Or maybe it was because he was America. Alfred never could tell.

Soon, he heard music, deep and slow, being plucked on a guitar. Drawing him in. He rounded a corner for the sound, closing his eyes to take it in. The low notes were drawn out, the high sharp and soft, both combining into something... America didn't bother trying to explain it. Too lost in the music, he missed how he started to hum, missed as he got captured by the soulful tune. His eyes flew open, frowning as it ended.

Noticing the player, he couldn't help but just madly grin. Pulling out his wallet, he grabbed out a bill or two, throwing it into the open guitar case at the boy's feet. The musician looked almost flushed as America turned to him. His mouth opened, then closed in thought. The nation didn't think much of it, turning around to go back to the meeting, even if he would rather spend all day listening to the musician.

"H-hey!" America spun around eyes wide as the musician called him. He pointed to himself to make sure he was even talking to him. The nod confirmed it. Before he could ask why, he stopped and got his answer. "I, uh, heard you singing. Humming really, and it, uh, sounded...pretty? Whatever. What I'm trying to say is, would you sing? Please? I'm not one for it, but I think it'd be fun to you too, 'cause I like guitar and you sing-whoops, hum, and i just," the Nation's eyes grew wider, mouth bobbing up and down. Finally, after many unbearable seconds, he gave a lighthearted laugh at the awkwardness of the invitation and replied.

"Yes, yes! I'd love to. Really," he shook his head until the boy laughed in return, holding out his hand to shake.

"The names Louis, Jared Louis," he looked at America, his grin hard to contain.

"Alfred F. Jones at your service."