Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, take credit for Hetalia and its characters. All credit goes to Hidekaz Himaruya-sama. All OCs belong to myself and my various friends.

Author's Note: Alrighty guys, this is the first fanfic I've actually posted chapters for on here, so please treat me kindly. Rest assured that all future chapters will be much longer than this one.

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"Turn left after 200 meters."

"Shut up, Harlot, nobody likes you." I muttered under my breath as I shot a quick glance at my GPS's bright LED screen. I'd always been directionally challenged, so my brother Alfred had decided to buy Harlot for me for my eighteenth birthday. Now, don't get me wrong, the GPS wasn't originally named Harlot. If I recall correctly, its true name was some Japanese influenced slang with a few numbers slapped on at the end. But I'd dubbed her Harlot, because that's what she was—a dirty, annoying, good for nothing Harlot. Sure, she'd saved my ass from getting lost more times than I could count, but she'd also purposely avoided telling me about any and all nifty shortcuts, and I say purposely because I know that bitch was doing it on purpose. We had a love hate relationship. Mostly hate, though.

"Turn left after 100 meters."

"Bitch, what did I say? I'll cut you," came my retort, followed by a childish tongue gesture in said GPS's direction.

I'd been driving for a solid half-hour, but according to Harlot's screen I'd be arriving at my destination in less than five minutes. That is, if she didn't decide to tell me at the last minute that we'd been on the wrong course all along and that I needed to turn around and try again. Wouldn't be the first time, let me assure you. You're probably wondering where I'm going, right?

Home.

Well, if you could call it that. Technically I was leaving my real home behind with every mile my tires ate up. You see, my two brothers and I had just graduated high school and upon graduation decided to move out. The original plan had been to share an apartment, but three-room apartments are freakin' expensive, and Matthew refused to share a room with Alfred after having done so for the past eighteen years. And, as a female, there was no way I was sharing a room with either of the twins. So, after asking around, we eventually made separate plans that suited each of us perfectly.

Alfred was going to share an apartment with his best friend, Arthur, who had admitted he couldn't afford the rent for one of his own. I knew this to be a lie, considering the Brit's family had old blood wealth pouring out of their ears. No, I suspected the true reason was that he simply didn't want to be alone. The poor guy had plenty of imaginary friends, sure, but everyone needed companionships, and for some reason beyond my depth of understanding he preferred to receive it from Alfred rather than from anyone else. Oh well, to each his own, right?

Matthew was also pairing up with his best friend, whose name I couldn't recall. Some guy who'd immigrated from Cuba at a young age. You know the phrase 'opposites attract'? They take it to a whole new level. Mattie was soft spoken and timid while the Cuban was loud with a bit of a bi-polar problem. The guy hated Alfred with a passion and would attack him on sight. And Mattie, being Alfred's twin, was often mistaken by the Cuban for his brother, and given a sound beating before he could make his true identity known. But poor little Mattie took it like a trooper, and never once became cross with the Cuban. Granted, Mattie never became cross with anyone.

As for myself, well, let's just say I've never had many friends. Not many of the same gender, anyway. I've always been awkward around other females due to growing up with only brothers to play with. While other little girls were playing dress-up with the latest designer Barbie dolls, I was planning out battle tactics with Alfred's G.I. Joe's. I chose pirate and ninja costumes over princess gowns, and running through the mud over tea parties. The girls in elementary school couldn't tell me apart from the boys, and in middle school they made fun of my tom boy ways. High school was a bit better, with a few unique girls befriending me in my theater classes, but the rest still treated me like a social outcast. But that's always been alright with me; boys are so much easier to understand, they say what they mean, and they don't try to play mind games with you. And, unfortunately for me, all of my guy-friends either already had plans with room-mates of their own, or weren't moving out in the first place. So, with nowhere else to turn, I'd taken advantage of my final resource.

Craigslist.

Do you know how many pedophiles are on that site? Sweet baby Jesus, they come in all kinds of shapes and colors on there. I can't even begin to tell you how many times I was offered a place to stay by various fat and hairy men with Lolita complexes. I'd been on the verge of giving up hope and accepting the fact that I'd be staying at home with my parents throughout my freshmen year of college when lo and behold I'd found what I'd been looking for.

The ad had quite a few spelling errors that my inner grammar Nazi refused to overlook, but all in all it seemed like a legitimate offer; three teenage boys offering the fourth bedroom in the house they were renting to any who were willing to pay their fair share. Not only was it local, but it was in the heart of 'college territory', aka the biggest cluster of bars, stores, and entertainment centers in the area. I'm not ashamed to admit I did a victory dance around the house after receiving a confirmation that I had indeed won the offer, odd looks received from my family be damned.

Two weeks later and there I was, driving around in my red 2010 Toyota Camry LE V6 with a back seat and trunk full of luggage, and Harlot yacking away at me in her robotic tone. My fingers tapped in rhythm to the bass vibrating throughout my car as I sang along to Pet by A Perfect Circle. It wasn't too often that I listened to such a twisted genre, but it was what the shuffle on my iTouch had chosen for me, and I was too lazy to reach down and change it. Besides, I hadn't heard it in a while and it was bringing back feelings of nostalgia from when Alfred had tried to go into a heavy metal phase all because 'Iggy' was going through a punk one. Poor Mattie had hardly gotten any sleep for those short few months due to Alfred's sound system constantly blaring Korn and Falling in Reverse.

"You have missed your turn off, continue forward an additional 800 meters or perform a u-turn when able."

"DAMMIT, HARLOT. YOU AND YOUR BLASPHAMY," I screeched, turning my steering wheel roughly as I pulled into a Wal-Mart parking lot. After doing a loop around a small section of empty parking lots I was on my way back onto the main road, muttering a few colorful words under my breath about 'abusive technology' and 'I Robot's storyline coming true'.

"Turn right at the next intersection."

I didn't even bother to give her a reply. After driving in relative silence for a few minutes, if you didn't count the song Poor Unfortunate Souls as noise, I turned into a generic suburban neighborhood and began scanning the black numbers on the curbs for the right house.

"2988… 2990… 2992… Ah, 2994, fi—"

"You have arrived at your destination."

"I swear to all that's holy, Harlot, one day I'm going to stab you with Altair's hidden blade and burn your lifeless corpse. And I won't even honor your remains. Uh-uh, I'll hide them under the stage of Justin Beiber's next concert where your spirit will be forced to listen to his voice for hours on end until it slips into the abyss." Proud of my ingenious comeback— I mean come on, I'm obviously a witty goddess— I cut my engine, took a deep breath, and got out of my car.

The house was in good condition, just as the ad had said. It was two-story with light cream paint and plenty of white framed windows. It wasn't obnoxiously large like some two-stories tend to be, either. It was on the small side, just big enough to house four or five people comfortably. The lawn was large with a few white birch trees on either side. There didn't seem to be any flowers or shrubbery—anything that would require a green thumb, or just a simple watering every now and then—and the lawn had a sprinkler system. It seemed whoever rented the house out didn't trust a bunch of teenagers to take care of any gardening. How wise of them. The ad had also mentioned a pool in the backyard, but it wasn't visible beyond the white wooden gates on both sides of the house, separating the front yard from the back. But that was an adventure for another time.

I was a woman on a mission. A mission to meet my room-mates. And by room-mates, I mean three possibly hormonal young men who may or may not be sexual predators, serial killers, or mentally unstable psychopaths, among other things. My LA IV teacher, Mrs. Callaghan, had always told us the first year of college would change you for the rest of your life. I was about to find out if she was right.