DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia or any of it's characters, (I wish... XD) Characters in this story belong to Hidekaz Himaruya!
**Please don't be too harsh, this is my first Fan fiction.../insert nervous laugh here.../**
Crystal like droplets of rain poured down from the sky, making large gleaming puddles of water on the ground below. It had been raining for a while now, the familiar pitter patter noises of the water had drifted a certain Brit into a peaceful slumber. He had been sitting in his quite comfortable couch, reading an interesting book, and every once and awhile taking a sip from his warm, soothing tea. All that could be heard in the neat and quaint little house was the sound of the blond's soft breathing and the rain's rhythmic melody that was, until, the sound of knocking broke the serene silence.
Forest green orbs fluttered open, slowly, and looked around the room curiously.
The Brit sat himself up, lazily not quite ready to be awoken from his nice nap. He got up from the comfy couch, frowning a bit at the interruption to his relaxing moment, which he hadn't had in a while. He trudged over to the wooden door, fixing his hair a bit to look, presentable at the least. Who could it be? He looked over at a medium sized clock that was hung on his plain walls. 7:47... Seriously, who would come over at a time like this, and without even informing me? His thoughts were confusing him all the more until he finally reached the door.
Whoever was behind the door, had gotten impatient, and started knocking repeatedly on it, a little more forcefully than last time. The blond groaned in annoyance and proceeded to open the door slightly, eyes peeking out from the opening to see his surprise visitor could be.
No one. Nobody was standing there, and if this was meant to be some childish prank, they would have come out already. England frowned, not because he actually wanted a guest, but simply because, he was having a nice, calm moment on his own. The sandy blond was about to return to his nice, soft couch, when he realized something quite, odd... Sitting there, unharmed by the rain at all, was a bouquet of beautiful lavender colored roses on his porch.
"What the..." He stopped himself, realizing he was alone and it was idiotic to talk to one's self. Well that's what he thought anyway. Drowsy green eyes scanned the area, looking to see if he could somehow spot the person who delivered them. Were they mailed to him perhaps? He hadn't heard a vehicle drive by, or anything really. Still confused, he thought that they were maybe delivered to the wrong address. As he knelt down to gently pick up the fragile looking roses, he realized, there was no address, which meant, a person delivered them by foot.
For one of the neighbors maybe? That would make sense, the Brit concluded. As he examined the roses further, he realized that there was a small envelope in between some of the bright, emerald green leaves. It would be very un-polite to read this, if it is indeed intended for someone else, he thought. As he decided to look at who's name was written on it, he realized it was, actually his.
" To: Arthur Kirkland " , it read in medium-sized cursive letters. He looked again and realized that "From:" was blank. What kind of sick joke was this? England thought, lips forming a small frown of disbelief, as he walked back inside his house, closing the door behind him.
Now he had to admit, the flowers were really beautiful, gorgeous even. But, even if it was his first time receiving something like this, and was quite flattered to be honest, it could still be another prank from that idiot kid, America, or, some creepy, perverted poem from France again... The Brit shuddered at the thought of the last poem he received from that "frog".
He decided that such lovely flowers had to be preserved for as long as possible, so, he cut off any leaves from the bottoms of the stems to ensure they wouldn't touch the water, and placed them in a nice, clear vase neatly. There, now that, that's done... He glanced at the small white envelope placed on his counter. Might as well open it, he thought, as he walked towards it. Thin fingers reached for the small piece of paper, opening it, careful not to rip the contents inside.
Once opened, he peered inside, finding that the paper was folded very neatly, and took it out carefully. The Brit unfolded it, in a nimble manner, not ripping it the slightest bit. It was a letter, well, it wasn't really long, but, it definitely wasn't a poem, and was written in regular hand-writing, no cursive. He read the writing, which looked a bit, familiar, but couldn't quite point out to who it belonged to, aloud.
" Hi, England. " The Brit paused, if this person knew his country name, that meant he must be one as well. " I've recently realized something, and it's been bothering me lately." Bothering this person...? What could it be...? " It's just, every time I'm around you, I feel...Different. I feel my heart pounding so quickly, so loud, I actually think someone will notice." W-what?! The blond was a bit confused, but, continued reading anyway.
"I think I've fallen for you, England. Please accept these flowers. They represent what I think of you and feel about you... See you at the next world meeting, bye! -Your secret admirer..." The sandy blond's face flushed. If this was a joke, it was certainly taken too far. He thought of the possibilities, and thought of all the female nations he knew, or at least met and conversed with once. It couldn't be the small, shy and delicate, Liechtenstein, and it certainly wasn't Belarus. He was actually a bit nervous to go to the next meeting now...
" Who the bloody hell is it?! "