xxx.

Hello! This is actually my first fanfic to publish on this fine website and although I'm not the best writers out there I'm hoping to hear your comments on this usuk story *7*

xxx. Summary: England is being stalked by an unknown man who refuses to show any identify with a strong appearance and knows the nation's secret and well reveal it to reality if England doesn't fallow his orders step by step or he will executes people closets to England each time he refuses to be command. "I cannot be stopped. You cannot inform anyone. Only follow my orders, England, and your acquaintances will live to see another day."

I suck in summaries but bare with me, please.

Disclaimer: I don't not own Hetalia ಥωಥ

You'll learn to hate me

But still call me baby

Oh love

So call me by my name

And save your soul

Save your soul

Before you're too far gone

Before nothing can be done

"Never Think" by Rob Patterson

"…And that is it for today's meeting," Germany affirmed, shuffling over stacks of notes. "If anyone requests to know for the next continuing World Conference, it will be held in England a month from now."

Half the nation's nods in respect, others who lack good-nature simply ignored the German and leave the Conference room without further ado while Greece remains in his deep slumber.

Another meeting gone, England thought, packing up his belonging before leave of absence. I can't wait to go back home, drink hot tea with a plate of scones and get started on paperwork.

But England was not very fond of the idea of his normal routine. The same old, same old . . . When would be a time England can feel free—not an independence situation—but at least have a mind-blowing day? Not himself or doing a despicable action?

England chortled from the ludicrous thoughts. How could he do such things? He does not have time to party or anything for that matter. Even though he was the black sheep of Europe . . . He is currently a gentleman, a grown man and a responsible nation for Christ's sake! The merely wild thing he has ever done was get drunk with the bad touch trio—which will only go into a disaster later on after he recovered from a hangover—and going into war wasn't fun.

War was the last thing he would want to commit—unless his country is at stake—and it wasn't near the fun. An image of an American with sky blue orbs appeared in his mind and England's mood turned sour. The American Revolutionary War still hovers in his mind, for he was too stubborn to let go of the past. That damn American; he ruined everything for him, but what hurt him the most was that Alfred left him in the dust.

Once upon a time, England loved America when he was an innocent child—he still does but too stubborn to admit it—who looked up to him as a big brother. But America committed the action of becoming independent; and even pointed his dear musket towards England, the nation who raised him with warmth.

Many years have passed, and so has his hatred begun to ebb away into something more . . . nice? If he ponders onto the issue, he never knew how the feelings began to stir in his chest while he was around Alfred. At first he was perplexed by these feelings, him not knowing what "love" was after America broke his heart until years later those sensations began to rouse afresh.

He was in love with America! That damn unforgivable bloody git was his crush!

England growls under his breath as he closes his eyes in frustration, rubbing the bridge of his nose in process. Sometimes he just wishes to go dig up a hole and die in misery. England refused to believe in this, pushing himself to stop but the feelings rejected his orders and only did the help of growing.

Heh, he wonders if America could feel the same for him . . . ? England nearly burst out laughing. There was no chance the United States of America could return his feelings, let alone liking. Would he laugh in my face? Be too shock to even answer and never talk to him again? You are being to over dramatic, he thought, yet he had a slight negative feeling. England couldn't even believe it himself he was gay. If this was revealed to any nations they would be shock as he was.

Wait, but doesn't Germany have a thing for Italy? Spain showing affection towards Romano every chance he gets? Japan and Greece? And isn't Finland Sweden's wife? France with . . . practically any living blushing virgin he sees in sight?

England makes a face from disgust. That frog is such a bloody pervert, flirting with him in the G8 meetings began to assemble. That France bastard better look out because England has something up his—

Unexpectedly, strong arms wrap around his waist and abruptly pull him back from his walking. England yells out by the sudden jerk and from the touch of fingers digging into his skin. Damn it, his sides are sure to get bruises.

"Whoa! Yo, England, dude, you were this close to meeting your death!" a high-pitch voice exclaimed, the pair of limbs retreated from his flanks whilst the Brit shoves him away.

England frowns when he came to face with America while he ignores the feeling of his heart rate speeding up.

"Y-you bloody git! Do not ever touch me again!" England barks at him, looking anywhere but at the blue-eyed man. He hoped America hasn't spotted his tinted cheeks even as much as he tried to hide his face.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! England harassed his mind. Why hadn't he heard him approach?

America's eyebrows furrowed together. "Don't get too stubborn, Iggy. I saved you from running into that wall!" America nods towards the partition behind England's back and grins. "'Cause I'm a hero ya know and so it's my job to protect the people—I mean, I could've let you get a face full of pain and all but it would ruin my reputation." He pushed back Texas and laughed open heartily.

"For the last time don't call me that!" Arthur growled, but the American was in his own little world now, it was impossible to bring him back.

England lowered his gaze and hurriedly clutched his chest over his heart was, fingers digging into his suit. It is weird how America's presence could cause his heartbeat to pulsating flutter along with his trembling hands.

That bloody git—triggering him to feel this way. He doubts he affects America to feel this condition while he was around him; considering his carefree laughter fill the air.

He was fully aware if he showed any signs cowering away from America shyly, he would become suspicious by England's unknown behavior.

"England?"

Said looks up, and was pulled away from his thoughts and gaze disinterestedly at the American. "What is it, you wanker?" he snapped, crossing his arms. He failed to notice blue eyes glint worrisome before it quickly vanished into the depths of his orbs.

"Are you alright?"

The question took England aback for a moment until laughter bubbled in his chest. "Now why do you say something so ridiculous? Last I checked, you left me on the battlefield in the bloody rain, and now you're showing some concern over me? Pfft!"

He knew what he said was wrong and his mood abruptly turns bitter as America frowned.

"Well, I'm sorry I asked . . . you just seem red," he proclaimed, examining England's face. "Are you sick or is it from anger? Cause your face is flushed."

England stiffened.

Note Check to Keep Alfred from Noticing His Affections—DO NOT blush like a school girl.

He turns his back to America precipitously, nibbling his lower lip nervously. "N-no. It's none of your damn business," he mumbles, straightening his tie. "If you excuse me, I wish to leave the United States and head back home to prepare for today's paper work and the upcoming World Conference—I'm am the host after all. You as well should, too, if you please other than stuffing your face with those greasy so called burgers and playing video games throughout your life."

There was a bit of an edge in his voice, but he ignores the fact of America being affronted would affect him. Shooting the blue-eyed man a side-glance scowl, he leaves the building without another word to Alfred.

Damn git, England wasted too much precious time. He still needs to attend back to the hotel, pack up, and go over to the airport before his plane could depart. At least his heart rate decreases its speed. He slowly traces his fingers onto his face, and realizes he was burning up. Is he coming up with a fever?

"England!" Oh, for the love of Pete!

His elbow was grabbed harshly, causing him to come to a halt. As it was before, the stirring sensation sprouted in his chest. Without guessing who had briefly grasped his arm, he jerks himself away from America's grasp and practically screams.

"I told you fucking not come closer to me! I need to go before my plane leaves and if I don't get on that plane I would do things in your sleep you will never live down!" he growls with clench teeth, a dark aura surrounding the atmosphere.

"Does that involve you getting into my pants?"

"Screw you!"

America grins, ignoring the Englishman cruel insult and happily said, "I don't know how to tell you this, England but it's your lucky day!"

"Oh? And what could that be, you ungrateful brat?"

"I'm coming with you! You know, live with you before the World Conference starts! Since I'm awesome and all, you won't be able to refuse my offer!"

America was sure he could have heard England's blood draining from his body.

*. ʑ

"I cannot believe this . . . Bloody git, stupid twat . . ."

England continues to curse under his breath as he watches from afar at America as he devours a handful of hamburgers and fries from his tray.

They were now currently in England. Eventually England gave in to America's begging after he told him to drop dead but gave in.

Being stubborn as he is England refuse to take a bite out his own dinner lay out in front of him and tap his fingers onto the table into an infuriated racket.

People around his table shoot him irritated glances by the commotion he was causing, but he ignored them and continued to watch the blue eyed man stuff himself. Why had he ever agreed to let America stay with him for over the past week? That's right, a week has come by and gone with the nation living with the American.

England realizes he wouldn't be able to stand the sensation any longer. He already blushed for the millionth time today, and America saying the hero he was, checked for any signs of a fever.

He lays the back of his palm onto England's forehead, triggering the Englishman's flushed face to turn into a deeper crimson. He slaps his hand away and takes several steps back as an electric current wash through England by the small brush of the American's skin.

Ignoring England's cringe, America gazes at the smaller nation. "There is a possibility you got the cold, but man, your face is so red right now!" America exclaims, excitedly, his lips tugged into a smile. "Are you sure you don't want to me to get a thermometer?"

England shakes his head a little too quickly. "No! Leave me be so I can get on with this work!" he said, waving couple of documents in America's sudden frowning features.

America stays silent for a moment up until his hand reaches out and laid his palm against his chest where England's heart rested. A shock wave stirred in England's upper body, and he breathes out heavily.

"What are you . . . ?"

"Your heart is beating really fast as well," America uttered huskily. His voice was lower than usual. Some could say he sounded . . . sexy. At this situation, America could have gotten another slap to the cheek for touching him and acting so ridiculous, but England couldn't push him away; he was frozen to the spot as Alfred closed in, their bodies meeting together. The emerald-eyed man stiffened by how close they were in as he could feel America's body heat.

America's eyes were not looking straight at him, but England silently wished he would stare in those piercing sapphire orbs. Green and Blue would clash together perfectly for some possibility's to both likings.

Why is he doing this to him? This isn't like America so why . . .? It suddenly occurred to England the American was playing with him— triggering him to feel like a pile of goop. Hahaha! That won't stop England to fall for his stupid joke, but England couldn't bring himself to shove America away from him even if he has the courage too.

England forces himself not to shudder as America leans in closer and his breath tickles against England's ear triggering the British man to draw in a shuddery breath. "England, could you help me . . . ?"

He leaned closer until their foreheads brushed slightly. There it was again—the moment of fainting from the adrenalin.

"Y-yes?"

"Help me . . ." England squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the mind blowing time of his life.

" . . . . Prepare for dinner?" America asked, pulling away whilst he grins.

…

….And that moment was gone in an instant.

"I thought I can offer to make dinner since you suck with cooking, so I'm making pasta~!"he said, "Italy taught me not too long ago but I need my partner-in-crime to help."

England's soul was crushed but he was able to stutters out, "S-s-sure, I'll be there in a second."

"Don't take too long! You can't have the hero wait!" And he exits the office, leaving England to slam his head against the wall the moment his presence disappeared.

Dinner didn't turn out as good as they thought, though. They were currently making whatever America instructed him to hand him (he dare didn't let England touch the food)

The moment America proudly stood back to examine his work and had exclaimed, "Whoo~ We are finished!" but England—still pissed about earlier—ended up squeezing an egg in his grip to tightly and it plastered on both of them and on their beautifully made food. He hadn't even known how the damn egg was in his clenched hand.

So for dinner . . . they ended up at McDonalds, much to England's displeasure

"Iggy?"

"What?" he hisses through clenched teeth. He was close to hitting America for his stupid stunt back home, and he wonders why he hasn't done so.

"Are you gonna eat that?" America pointed toward England's own tray of food that hasn't been touched while his mouth was still full from the chewed up hamburger.

England sighs heavily and pushes it in his direction.

"Help yourself."

"Thanks!"

Charming, England thought disgustingly as America practically grabs the plate and literally pours it in his open mouth. He doesn't look anything like he was had when he turned….sexy. Damn it and these thoughts.

"Higgeglde!"

"America, how many times have I told you not to talk with your mouth full?"

After a few minutes of chocking, America finally swallowed down the nutrients and grinned. "Your McDonalds aren't as great as mine back home, though this can work."

"I care because . . .?"

"Guess what, Iggy?"

England rolled his eyes, noticing his question was going to be unanswered. "What, you bloody wanker?"

"Since we're done with dinner—"

"You are done with dinner."

"—let's go to the bar—"

"Pub!"

"—for a drink tonight. You could use one."

England grimaced from America's point, and rubbed the lower back of his neck. "Y-you could be right . . ." And wrong. Who knows what he'll say if he gets drunk? Nevertheless, he's dying for a pint; maybe it will take his mind off with his stupid situation. He checked his watch cursorily. It was 7:21 pm. There was a slight chance they could have time to drink a few pints and get back ome before midnight.

He stands upright instantly. "Let's go then, git. But do know this—you're the one getting wasted tonight. Not me."

Not much time later…~

*. ʑ

"….an' you're an ungrateful…spoiled….brat. If I . . . hadn't rescued….you from frog-face…" England took a big gulp of air before continuing. "You'd be lost . . . without from . . . me, you bloody . . . 'anker!"

America remains smiling nervously at the British man as he rants on and on about being heartbroken about the young American leaving him as his colonial. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to come . . . ?

"An' you're . . . fat!"

Okay, bad idea.

America forced out a laugh. "All right, Iggy, I'm pretty sure you are doing this on purpose . . ." his voice trailed away uncommon as England practically shoves his face closer to the blue-eyed man unexpectedly. He observes at him curiously with large emerald eyes.

America's heart skipped a beat at how close they were in and he gently pushed the drunken England away as his cheeks flushed a rosy tint.

"T-take it easy, England, you are drunk," he laughed tensely, adjusting Texas on the edge of his nose.

Suddenly a hand shot out and pulled America's glasses from their position. England giggled, and tried them on curiously.

"H-hey! Give those back!" America said brusquely, blinking. "I can't see very well without my glasses!"

Another giggle stuttered out. "M . . . make me. If . . . you're a hero—hic!—it wouldn't ta . . . take you much—hic!—to come get 'em," England slurred through his words, gazing up at America with wide green orbs.

America blushes a darker shade of red, and he reaches forward. "C'mon, Iggy, give them back! . . . Hey . . . hey don't! Wait a minute, don—Oomph!"

England had grabbed a hold on his arm and abruptly yanked him, causing the American's balance from his seat to topple over him and he landed on England's lap, taking them both down to the ground.

People currently in the pub watch from a distance at the two grown men battling and the manager pulled them both upright from the back of their shirts, kicked the front entrance open, and shoved them out from the pub harshly much to America's displeasure.

"You are ban from this pub! Good day to you!" he shouted in strict voice. He huffed and went back inside the hostelry.

America had landed on his feet smoothly from the hard push, but England (still drunk) manage to grab his legs and pulled them both down once again.

Dust flew everywhere and America coughed as the sand entered inside his mouth.

"Ack! Damn it, En—I mean, Arthur!" America corrected himself as people from the streets glance over towards the two nations. Hacking, America brushes himself off and stands upright. Damn it. British people are so rude! It doesn't matter anyway, England was flat out drunk and he seriously does not know where England kept his car keys.

"That didn't turn out well as I planned—hey, Iggy, where do you wanna go ne—England?"

The nation of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland has disappeared. And what made things worse America's dear Iggy was running lose in the streets drunk.

America groaned. Fuck my life.

To be continue.

Please forgive me for my lack of grammar success ;( and please feel free to point out any mistakes I have written and thanks for reading!

Please review and I'll post the next chapter soon!