England was sitting at a small table with two chairs, wondering how he had ended up in this weird situation.

He was happy person. His life was well. He ate three square meals a day and was able to drink all the tea he wanted, so how is it possible that he let that idiot America talk him in to this?

"I would never do this myself," America had said. "But I think it would be good for you. I know how lonely you can get in that big ol' house of yours."

"I'm not lonely!" England had argued back. "Besides, my home is the same size as yours and you live alone."

"Yeah, man, but I've got Tony and my pet Whale! They keep me company, but you... Trust me man, I've got the perfect thing."

Eventually, England had just said okay to shut the other nation up. He hadn't realized that America would insist on driving him to this god awful place and leave him here alone to actually do it. He'd walk back to America's house by himself if everything in America wasn't so far apart. It's like the place is specifically designed to discourage walking anywhere.

"Okay guys," the young American announcer with spike black hair and a plain white t-shirt said into the microphone. "I'm sure you all know how this works. You'll talk to the person for two minutes, and then you move down to the next table when you hear the bell."

England silently cursed the American for not saying who was supposed to move. He looked at the woman across from him. She was pretty with long blond hair and sparkling blue eyes, but a part of him couldn't stop thinking of America when he looked at her. Something about her... Well, he didn't know exactly what it was. It must've been the distinct color of her eyes.

"So," the girl smiled widely. "Hi, I'm Allie."

"I'm..." England stopped. Did he really want to spend two minutes trying to explain why his name was England? "Arthur..." he said, saying the first name that came to his mind.

"Nice accent," she said with a giggle. "Where are you from?"

"England, and y-"

"England! That's so cool. So, what does that make your native language? Can you say something in it?"

The nation searched her face, trying to determine if she was joking. Deciding that she wasn't, he sighed. "It's..." the bell rang, marking the end of their date "...been nice talking to you, Allie."

"Here's my number," she pulled out a lipstick and wrote her number on a napkin. "You're accent it hot. You should call me sometime."

England took the number silently, smiling at her politely as she walked away from him. He had no intention of calling her, but he was sort of flattered that she thought he was the kind of person that deserved her number.

"Hello, I'm Courtney. Nice to meet you." A brunette woman with green eyes sat down across from him.

"Arthur, pleasure is all mine."

"Nice accent. English, right?"

"Yes," England nodded, idly wondering why the American women kept pointing out that he had an accent. Were they so easily distracted by it?

"English accents are pretty sexy," Courtney told him.

Oh. "Oh? What's so..." England cut himself off. "So, where are you from?"

"Florida, I signed up for this because I wanted to see how many losers actually came to these things."

"Oh," England nodded, picking up the water the restaurant had provided the daters with and taking a sip. Rude. "I see, well..."

"I never thought I'd meet someone so handsome here. Did you lose a bet?"

England smiled. "Something like that."

The bell rang and the woman pulled out a small card. "Here's my private number," she said, handing him the card. "Call me anytime."

England bowed his head politely at her and put the card in his pocket. Well. If he was going to be getting numbers all day...

Suddenly, England heard a laugh. It was a very familiar laugh and he didn't have to look up to see who it was.

"Well, well, well," came a French accent as he sat down at the table. "What are you doing here, England? I was under the impression that you were a recluse when it came to love.

England frowned deeply. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why are you here, France? And why are you in the women's line? Don't I see enough of you at meetings?"

France laughed again. "You can't blame me for this one, Angleterre. I didn't know you were going to be here. Besides, it's on my bucket list to meet all of the beautiful people in this world, and this is the fastest way to do it. And here I am running into you." He leaned forward, putting his elbow on the tabled and placing his chin in his palm. "It's almost as if it were meant to be."

The bell rang and a woman came over to take France's place. He took her hand and kissed the back of it. "I'm so sorry to disappoint such a beautiful lady, but you can't talk with this man." France dropped his voice to a whisper, "He's mine." France stood up and kissed both of her cheeks, "I must politely ask you to please go around us to the next table."

The woman blushed, and nodded, going on to the next table, clearly charmed.

"You can't do that," England said, narrowing his eyes. "It'll throw off the rotation."

"My dear, England," France smiled. "This is fate. If you try to ignore what is written in the stars, you'll throw off the rotation of the universe."

England stood up and straightened his coat. "Maybe I don't believe in fate," he said tersely before walking away.

France leaned back and smiled as he watched England walk out the front doors. "So he's still playing hard to get. I'll wear him down."