A/N: Hey everyone! I didn't realize that I never posted this story here. Anyway, here are the first two chapters of this story. It'll be about football (soccer), and it'll have high school romance. Just as a warning though, I'm a couch potato, so I have never really played any sport. I've been watching a bunch of YouTube videos about soccer to help me out with this. If you see anything that is glaringly wrong, please let me know!

Also, I don't own Hetalia.

"Alright, everyone, I hope you understand the plan. When in doubt," the annoying voice stopped for a second as Arthur became relieved.

The complete silence should have thrown Arthur off, but instead he merely flipped to the next page of his graphic novel. Normally, he wouldn't speak to a student in the rival building, but he had known Kiku for years. And he wasn't going to give up on receiving the latest edition of Eros just because of some petty school rivalry.

"Rosbif!"

Arthur's eyebrow twitched. Just when he was getting to the good scenes. His head poked up from his novel, "Yes, frog?"

"Have you even listened to a word I said?" the French teen crossed his arms in annoyance.

Leaning back to the wall in a sigh, Arthur tried to recollect the nonsense that Francis had sprouted out to the team for the past twenty-five minutes. Knowing the French teen for the past four years since he attended the school, Arthur knew all the plans and maneuvers Francis ever suggested complete disasters.

With a mocking grin, Arthur snorted, "Expel all our energy in the beginning and then when we run out of energy, fall to our knees. Consort with the enemy if all else fails."

"Oh and you forgot that we have to wave our white flags when we beg on our knees," Feliciano, an airy Italian junior, added. Arthur could only grin at that.

"I'm hurt," Francis huffed. "You should be listening to me instead of reading that lewd novel of yours."

Arthur hummed as he went back to his reading, "We are the worst team the Art & Humanities school has seen in years. With our pathetic stats, we should be dead last," he muttered.

Though they had poor coordination on the field, they won most of their games. Not because they scored, but because Arthur refused to let the other team score. In the four years that Arthur has attended this school, he has not let one ball pass through the nets. If it weren't for him, they would've been dead last.

Their games were often an embarrassment to the school. What with Feliciano actually waving a white flag and calling out for peace last year, and Francis actually trying to score for the other team two years back.

"Oh yes, without our wonderful, majestic rosbif, we'd lose every year," Francis cried out in mockery.

Arthur laid down and flipped to another page in his book, "I think you would enjoy the position on page 117, Frog. It's adventurous, up your alley?"

The book was pulled out of his hands, and Arthur was accosted by a hurt look from Francis. "No fair, mon petit lapin! You told me that you were catching up to me, not reading ahead of me! Now I have to catch up!" Francis sat down on the bench and flipped back a few pages.

Now this was usually how their team meetings went.

The first ten minutes, they talked about lunch—Feliciano no doubt adding that he had pasta. The next fifteen minutes or so, they would talk about strategies for the game. Five of those minutes would be spent of what to do if the other team was unusually intimidating and scary. Usually, the words 'Surrender' and 'Beg' came into the discussion—but only when Francis was speaking. The next five minutes would be spent by Arthur and Francis arguing. Either about Eros or some other mundane topic. And the last 30 minutes? Most of the team usually packed up and left since there was nothing to discuss.

Antonio came up behind Francis and widened his eyes, "Is this a new edition?" Pulling it out of Francis's hands and ignoring the cries of protests, Antonio grinned, "You know, this almost looks like my cute Romano and me!"

Francis grumbled as he crossed his arms, "You know Arthur, page 117 is not nearly as sensual as page 87. Are you sure your head is right?"

Feliciano and Roderich already began to pack their bags. Francis frowned as he stared at the team, "What are you all doing?"

"Packing, you and Arthur talk silly nonsense at the end anyway," Roderich pushed up his glasses. "I'd rather spend my time practicing for my piano recital."

Francis rushed back to the front snatching Eros out of Antonio's hands in the process. With a nervous chuckle, he clapped his hands, "Très désolé mes amis, but you all have to stay here for just a moment more."

Pulling out his laptop, he pressed a few buttons before clearing his throat, "Now normally, I wouldn't worry about any of our games. We've been winning the Football Cup the past three years because of rosbif, but a little mole told me that we might need to try a bit harder this year."

"At surrendering?" Arthur snorted, still a bit salty that Francis tried to score against his own team.

"Shut up, rosbif!" Francis huffed and crossed his arms. "If anything, we need to worry about the Engineering School. Even you Arthur. Ludwig almost scored against you last year."

"That's because Kiku was telling me about volume 18 of Eros," Arthur scoffed.

Rolling his eyes, Francis shook his head, "Well, this year Kiku will just distract you with the platinum edition of Eros, and you will fall into their trap." He turned his laptop to show the team a picture of a blond-haired dork with a huge smile. If Arthur was not seeing things, he could've sworn he saw stars in the dork's eyes.

"This is Alfred F. Jones, our number one enemy," Francis coughed. "As a new transfer to the Engineering School, he was quickly admitted to the team, and rumor is, he's great at football." Francis slammed his fist onto the table suddenly causing almost all of them—except Arthur—to jump, "And we will not be beaten by the Engineering School. Especially not in my senior year! So, don't let down your big brother!"

"That's great, Francis," Antonio started. "But, how are we going to beat them if we…stink?" A small smile passed between Francis and Antonio suddenly. Arthur should've known they were scheming against him at this point, but he was too dense at the moment. Probably because he couldn't finish the chapter he was on.

"Great question, Antonio. While the rest of us talk strategy, Arthur is going to spy on Alfred and learn how he plays so he won't lose on game day," Francis grinned, a grin that spread from one ear to the next.

Spy on Alfred?

While the rest of the team talked strategy?

Arthur crossed his arms as he thought about the logistics of them winning. If Alfred truly was that good of a player, it wouldn't matter. Arthur wasn't letting any of the balls out of his sight. He's had ample practice with his brothers before. Being a human target, he had to protect himself from all sorts of calamities.

In the end, it had worked for all of them. Arthur's brothers were able to perfect their skills as strikers, and Arthur was able to perfect his skills as keeper.

"No need to spy on someone," Arthur grabbed his bag from the ground. "I'll just have Alistair play ball with me during the weekends to prepare."

Arthur's brothers were the only ones who scored a point against him. If this Alfred was truly phenomenal, he would have to be just as good as Arthur's brothers—with all of them being in professional teams.

"Rosbif, don't you want to learn new techniques. You know how your brothers play. What if Alfred catches you by surprise?"

Although he still refused to sink that low to spy on another team's player, Arthur couldn't help but collapse on the stands. No one had officially reserved the field, so he had every right to be here to watch Alfred, publicly instead of secretively.

With a sigh, he stretched his pale legs so they could catch the sunlight. After smearing on SPF 10,000 or what-not sunscreen, he hoped his skin didn't peel off. Otherwise, the Frog and him would have a word, in private.

The American teen walked into the field and set the bag down. If he had noticed Arthur, he said nothing. After setting the bag down, he immediately started to stretch. Arthur pulled out his notepad and flipped to the page that was marked exclusively for a certain Alfred F. Jones.

Alfred F. Jones

-Junior

-Loud & Obnoxious

-Plans to solve Global Warming by building robots to shield the earth from chemicals or some random crap

-Drowns himself in hamburgers (*Note to self, instead of calling him bird brain, call him burger brain)

-Is part of the Pen15 club (what the hell is that club anyway?)

Uncapping his special unicorn pen—don't mock him—he prepared himself for an intense note taking session.

As Alfred began stretching, the notes continued to fill his book.

-Is that a six-pack I see?

-And that trail of hair on his abs? It'll be a potential distractor…must warn the team

-This boy is ripped

-How in world is he so ripped?

-Does Kiku know? I want to see him featured in Eros

Arthur blinked as he reread the notes. All of them—every last one of them—were downright embarrassing and irrelevant to the matter at hand. Ripping the page out of his notebook, he stuffed it into his bag and started a new page. Fresh with more relevant notes this time—cough, cough.

Glancing up at the American teen, Arthur relaxed into the bleachers. He saw the wonderful football coming out of the bag. Now is when he really should be taking the notes.

Arthur's eyes scanned through the expenses of the French department. They went overbudget this semester, which was never a good thing. Taking his unicorn pen, he began to circle a few of the more irrelevant expenses. Francis really had to learn to not be partial when approving the French department's expenses.

"Bonjour mon petit lapin!" Francis laughed in his usual obnoxious manner as he walked up to Arthur. "How was Alfred? Amazing, I suppose?"

Arthur snorted as he leaned back into his seat and stretched. He only needed two minutes to decide that Alfred was bloody awful at the sport. If Arthur thought his team was awful, then he was truly wrong. His team played like God compared to Alfred.

"He's not competition, Francis. We have nothing to worry," Arthur went back to looking at the expenses before they were rudely pulled away by Francis. Raising his head in annoyance, his eyebrow twitched, "What?"

"How can you determine he's not competition?" Francis's nose crinkled. "Of course he's competition! He's apparently amazing at football."

Arthur slammed his fists on the desk as he stood up, "The boy couldn't even kick the ball properly! He kicked the ball once and then spent the next fifteen minutes on the ground crying or doing some other random thing. I kid you not, he had a cloud of misery over him!"

"Your imaginary friends were there too?" Francis gasped.

"For the last time, they are not imaginary!"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Francis shook his head, "Arthur, maybe Alfred was purposely playing awfully because he saw you there."

Arthur frowned as he calmed down. Tinkerbell had suggested that to him, but he brushed it off thinking it was impossible at the time. Burger brain couldn't possibly have that much intelligence. But now that Francis had also suggested that…it made reasonable sense.

"So what are you trying to tell me?" Arthur asked slowly.

"Don't put yourself out in the open! Spy on him!"

He wasn't going to listen to the Frog's words. Hiding under the bleachers was undignified behavior. As school president, he couldn't set the example that hiding under the bleachers was acceptable behavior.

So, he sat down.

On his head was a Sherlock Holmes hat. He cut the fabric that should've been there in the 'O' of Sherlock. Then, using masking tape, he taped his cellphone to his hat and started to record. No point in wasting time by watching Alfred make a debacle of himself.

As Alfred came into the field, Arthur took the moment to enjoy Alfred's stretch routine. Once the teen took out his football though, Arthur pulled out his copy of Eros.

It had continued that way for the past two weeks. Alfred would fail at practicing, and Arthur would be sitting in the stands reading his graphic novels. It was a win-win situation for him, since he just forwarded the videos of Alfred practicing to Francis. Missing practices to watch Alfred had been a true blessing. He was fully caught up to all of the Eros novels. Which meant he was ready to start the newest series Lust.

He pulled out the first book of Eros, as Kiku still hadn't given him Lust, yet and flipped to the more raunchier scenes.

"Hey!"

Hmm…. The voice has the perfect timbre to fit this character. I wonder how a moan would sound.

"What'chya reading?"

Arthur flipped the page once more before the novel was pulled out of his hands. Seriously, this had to be the second time this happened in his month. As Arthur prepared himself to accost the thief, he blinked when he noticed the American teen holding the novel with a pink blush covering his cheeks.

"Is half the school sex-deprived teenagers?" the American's blush deepened.

Arthur snatched the novel from Alfred's hands, "And are you a prude?"

Alfred glanced away, towards Arthur's backpack. Rubbing the back of his neck, he shrugged slowly, "I mean…the real thing is much better though…"

And just like that, Arthur met Alfred.