Disclaimer: I never own Hetalia or any of its characters. I just loved them.

A/N: My first fic on ! Finally after hours of brain-twisting and typing, I finished the first chapter of this fic. I would really appreciate constructive criticism and reviews! I promise I'll keep making better fics for your enjoyment! :D

London, the capital of the UK.

It was only 6 in the morning, but the city was awake. The citizens of the bustling city were getting ready to face their daily activities – some making their way to the urban centre where high rise buildings stood, others headed to the park to have an early morning jog.

One of those people, a stranger from across the Atlantic Ocean, was pushing his way past the crowd of workers to reach King Cross's station. He had to reach his new school in half an hour and if he couldn't make it by then he…

SLAM!

A crash, as expected of people in a hurry.

"I-I'm so sorry! Are you hurt?" The spectacled man, otherwise known as Alfred, apologized to the man he had just run into.

"Ouch. What in the world just happened?" The stranger exclaimed, stunned and unable to assess the current situation.

"I… You… H-here, let me help." Alfred offered his hand to the male. It seemed that he is of the same age as he is.

"Thank you." The man replied, accepting the hand held out to him and using it to help himself get his feet back on the ground.

Alfred was about to say another word or two to the unknown guy he just met, but the male quickly turned himself around, and Alfred instinctively knew that the guy would not have the time to start a nice chat with him, and the same goes to him. Snapping back to reality, he quickly charged into the train's slowly closing doors, which had just arrived a few seconds before.

Along the way to his destination, he couldn't get that stranger's image out of his mind. It was haunting him just like a ghost haunting his own grave. There was something so striking and different about the stranger. Was it his unusual, thick eyebrows? Was it his green, clear eyes? Or was it his thick British accent? Whatever it was, it certainly made the American unable to wait for his next encounter with the British.

Arthur's first day on the job seemed to be too stressful for him to handle.

First of all, he was 10 minutes late for work, and that alone had caused his salary to be cut down by a notable amount. Curse that Mr. Edelstein guy. Was he that fussy over little unimportant details?

And bad luck didn't seem to leave Arthur at all. He tripped over the stairs a couple of times. He left his wallet in the Tube. And a mysterious guy crashed him in the station. Oh, great, he thought. This day could never get any better.

All of these miserable thoughts could not hinder him from recalling the image of that stranger at the station. The spectacled, blue eyed American – one would know his nationality just by paying attention to his thick American accent. What was his name again? Arthur shook his head. He felt stupid for not conversing with the American, or asking his name and place of residence, at the very least. But then again, he was rushing to get to his new work station, and if he had actually conversed with that man he would have to sacrifice more of his precious salary. Again, blame it all on that Mr. Edelstein.

After a long moment of mere daydreaming, he finally woke up when the school bell rang loudly all across the hallway. Realizing that he had a class to attend to, he ran along the hallway, unwilling to be late for his lesson. Be punctual, or die in the hands of the principal, Mr. Zwingli – the Maths teacher – had warned him earlier.

Arthur finally reached his destination while desperately catching his breath. It was the first class of his teaching career, and for this particular reason he had to make a good impression of himself in front of the whole school.

"Good morning, class." Arthur greeted the students while attempting to put on his best and warmest smile.

"Good morning, sir!" The group echoed in reply.

"A fine morning, indeed. I'll start the lesson by introducing myself, before anything else. I am Arthur Kirkland, and I will be your Literature teacher for the rest of the school year." The Englishman stated while writing his name on the whiteboard. He took some time to examine his penmanship. He had always admired it; he always did.

"And now, let me just take some time to check on the attendance list..." He took the paper on the teacher's desk and started scanning through all the names and mentioning them one by one. The pupil called, in return, would raise his/her hand, showing his/her presence.

Everything seemed normal, until he reached one single name – a name he wouldn't expect to be there.

"Alfred F. Jones?"

"Present, sir!"

A/N: I'm working on the second chapter on this, and I'd appreciate suggestions on how the next chapter should go and helping criticism on this story! I love you guys (and USUK) a lot and thanks for reading! :D