A/N: I do not own Hetalia or you for that matter.

Punk Lies and Little Songs

By; UpForRent

Chapter 1;

Rainy Sunday

You sighed miserably, watching cold little raindrops fall on your dirty windowsill, the London skyline dreary and gray. Thunder clapped overhead, sending a violent shiver through the house as lightening quickly followed, flashing vibrantly across the dark sky. The rain began to get heavier and fall down harder, a louder tip-tap on the windowpane.

You placed your hands on the windowsill and pushed out, your rolling-chair moving backwards, scraping across the old, wooden floor. Your computer screen was bright against the dim, gray walls of your bedroom, which you have been trying to cover up with happier colors, but just recently moving into London, you had no idea where any of the supply shops were. Also, the gray suited the room better than a white or a deep blue, which was a calming color for you since your punk nature got you aggressive and on your toes the majority of the time. Anything else would seem odd, or out of place, mainly because you had a bunch of band posters on your walls, so anything bright would stick out. The gray seems to dim it down a bit, and doesn't seem to draw attention from any visitors coming in to see you, which would be an oddity because you had, as I had mentioned, moved in most recently to London.

Silently clacking away on your computer, finding anything that seemed to interest you on Youtube, you began to have recent, mostly second thoughts, about your recent change of background. Coming here was your therapist's idea, simply stating that a change of scenery might help you handle your stress and your aggression better. You had argued against the idea due to the fact that you had been to London before, and all it did was make you depressed for about a month because it was so damp and bleak that it just made you wish you would die. Of course, your therapist had to come up with an excuse for you to go.

"(Name), how old were you when you went to London?"

"7 or 8, I guess."

"Could it be possible that you might find a difference in landscape?"

"No! I swear to God, I had been to London, England, and hell, I am NOT going back."

"Now, now (Name), just calm down. Remember what I told you about letting your anger out in my room?"

You had grumbled with a deep annoyance.

"I was to be calm and not become aggressive."

"Yes, and I don't want to hear another complaint from you."

"But!"

"Ah, ah, ah! No buts! My decision is final. You are going to London, England and you will come back relaxed, happy, and calm."

After that, she went ahead and bought you a plane ticket, which was planned on the earliest flight to your planned destination. You wanted so badly to punch her in the gut, pull her hair, and drag her to the nearest train station to tie her up in thick rope to the train tracks. Sadly, you couldn't, mostly due to the fact that, if you did do it, there would be charges of murder and various other crimes against you, mostly coming from your recent exploits in your hometown. You had no choice, but to give in and go along with the idea of moving away from your home and your friends, which was a minority, and stick yourself smack-dab in the middle of London, living in nothing more than a shady old apartment about to collapse in on itself.

The rain pelted down harder, flecking across your window, smacking the glass as if it was nonexistent. Grumbling, you shut off the computer, no longer in the mood to fight with the slow piece of technology, an interesting video not moving fast enough for your liking. The screen went black, the room falling in shadow, a sudden change in atmosphere you felt. You turned on your room light, the bright flashing white coming from the center of your ceiling. Still, the atmosphere remained, a dark, gloomy feeling creeping across your skin, and you knew that the dreary London air was starting to get to you. Walking back towards your window, you began to watch the blur of water splatter the glass harshly, casting paint-like splotches all across it.

You sat in your rolling chair for a while, watching nothing more than the rain outside before a sudden deep knocking sound came from your door. Sighing, you got up and moved to the door from which the intruder knocked from. You had no time for visitors, and you were never in the mood for them in the first place, but you didn't want to start off on the wrong foot when it was your first week in a new place, with new people. So, the best you can do is tried to act like you were being courteous.

You quickly unlocked it and opened the door ajar a little to get a glimpse of who it was.

A silent, almost emotionless, Asian man stood in front of your old wooden door. Shorter than most men around the area, but he was a hell of a lot taller than any guys you knew at home. You fully opened the door to take a better look of the strange guest.

Judging by his almond eyes, he was most differently Japanese, or rather, was of Japanese descent. You had no idea if he had ever lived in Japan in his life, or if his parents were and he ended up living in England, though he was quite out of place from all the drunks running through town, the majority of them blonde-haired or thick-browed. Not just his heritage, but his own features stood out amongst the locals living in your apartment. The man had cropped raven black hair. It was short, neat, and tidy, obviously well taken care of. His eyes were a nice shade of dark brown, his pupils impossible to find in the murky depths of his gaze.

The man's clothes were simple and modest, darker in shade and neatly worn. He wore a suit, but it seemed comfortable to be in, a simple light blue jacket, a faded robin-egg V-neck, and a brown tie to finish it off. He wore a pair of jeans, slim and altogether, unlike a shredded pair hanging in your closet you had worn for several years now. He wore a pair of brown sandals, which was odd to wear in the middle of London, a dirty city meant for tourist and businesses, not a best place to live exactly. London, to you, reminded you of a British New York City, though you had only been there once as a child to see the Statue of Liberty. You can't remember your childhood memories very well, except for little details here and there. Of course, you had a pretty short attention span when you were 6 to the age of 13, so one thing would go in one ear then out the other in a matter of seconds.

The man gave a polite bow, obviously a Japanese custom you weren't used to seeing. He stayed in that position for a while when you realized you had to return the gesture. Quickly giving an awkward bow back, he stood back to his original pose while watching you clumsily gain your balance back up. When you managed to regain control of your 2 left feet, he gave you a funny look, mostly out of concern and awkwardness. You tinted a pink a little, obviously embarrassed of your clumsiness, which of course, you didn't mean to have. Getting your bearings back, you looked at him with a straight, if not so polite, face back.

"Sorry to disturb you, ma'am…" he began, but you quickly cut him off. "It's (Name); (Name, last name)." you had interrupted with. He blinked for a moment before going on. "Uh, right, Ms.… (Last Name). If you could please give me a map of London, I would be most grateful. You see, I live upstairs and I had moved into town most recently on a friend's request. I would wish to visit him today, but I do not know my way around London with some form of direction." He explained. You raised your eyebrows. "A map, huh?" you asked him. "Well, knowing my therapist she would've packed one on me, but… Hold on, let me check." You said, hearing a faint response. "Th-therapist?" he asked in surprise. You refused to answer as you quickly ascend the stairs to your room.

You bolted straight towards your bag and ripped it open. Digging through some of your packed clothes, you searched the bag for any signs of a map that could help the man waiting downstairs. Almost in an instant, you found it and hurried to the door, clutching the folded map in hand. You held it out to him in the open doorway, waiting for him to grab it and leave. Slowly, he took the paper gently and murmured a thank you before walking away.

You sighed and closed the door, locking it up before going back upstairs.

The map you have given to Kiku was most helpful, explaining in full detail the destinations and the small, unwanted back streets where his friend, Arthur, had kindly taken to living in. The rain was rather unpleasant though, and before long, Kiku became drenched in its never-ending dreary wetness. Walking speedily past pedestrians with umbrellas, lightened welcoming stores, and speeding traffic, Kiku read the directions off your map you had kindly lent him.

Suddenly, he stopped to gaze at a store, inside were racks of clothes and jewelry, a local store that very few people enter. He didn't see the shop name, but knowing well what type of store it was, he entered to go through some of the racks. When he came in, the shop owner had his feet on top of a desk, his fingers fiddling with something in his hands. He quickly stopped upon seeing Kiku entering the make-shift store. His long, blonde hair shone quite brightly in the light, along with his colorful attire. It was quite obvious the man was French, his handsome features unmistakably different from the locals running along outside. His blue eyes gazed at Kiku curiously before he moved out of his chair and strode to his side. The wavy-length of his hair began to rustle has he shrugged his shoulders from a cold draft that had entered the once-opened door.

"Bonjour! Welcome to my lovely shop! How may I be of any assistance?" the French man greeted him. Kiku quietly sighed and responded in a soft voice, "Um, hello, sir. I was hoping you would know any information about the back streets of London?" he asked. The French man looked at him with surprise. "Why? Are you lost?" he asked. Kiku shook his head. "I got a map. See? I was just wondering if there was anything I needed to look out for, Mr.…" Kiku began.

"Bonnefoy; Francis Bonnefoy." He replied rather proudly. "Yes, Mr. Bonnefoy." Kiku concluded. "No, please. Just call me Francis, mon ami." He stated. "Ah…Yes, Francis?" he tried again. "There you go. Now, I'm sorry, but the backstreets here are out of my knowledge. The only thing you need to look out for is a rude Englishman known as Arthur Kirkland." Francis said with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Kiku stiffened. "Why? Did he do something wrong?" he asked. Francis sighed. "Did you notice the shop's sign?" he answered. Kiku thought and realized that there wasn't a sign at all at the front door. He didn't answer, so Francis continued. "A few days ago, he came and went tearing through the store, annoying some of the customers and absolutely refusing to clean up the mess he made. I told him to leave, politely of course, but he refused to go. Finally, I kicked him out of the store and told him to not come back until he learned some manners. The next thing I knew, yesterday morning, the sign to my shop was vandalized! I knew it was that good-for-nothing punk who is supposedly called Arthur. The next time I see him, I'll call the authorities and make sure he stays put for good!" Francis explained.

Kiku remained silent, unsure whether or not to comment on Francis's rant, but it became apparent that Arthur had upset the man so. After a few moments of silence, Kiku cleared his throat.

"May I buy a raincoat?"

You growled and glared intensely at your computer. You were on your Facebook page, skimming through small talk and spam in your comments section. Quickly, you had found a new one, posted up by your therapist, stating that you should try to meet new people out on the streets of London. You didn't mind that. It actually sounded like something worth doing, but you were upset by the fact that no one else had enough heart to comment a farewell or good luck on your homepage. You exited the browser and quickly flipped the TV on.

You quietly flipped through the channels, nothing coming out to you as interesting, except for a commercial announcing a new episode of South Park at 7 PM Tuesday night. You mentally reminded yourself to check that out once the night actually came. You continued to flip through the channels, your (e/c) eyes taking in one scene than spitting out it as uninteresting. Before long, you grew bored and turned it off, setting up your iPod with any punk music worth listening to. At least, a song that was worth blasting your ears out. You sighed miserably when your phone began to ring. Knowing full well who it was, you decided to ignore it, in hopes that the person will leave you in peace, but as the phone kept ringing, you got agitated and picked it up.

"Hello?" you had demanded into the receiver. "(Name)!" came the excited German accent from the phone. "What do ya want, Gilbert?" you sighed. "(Name), guess what the awesome me as heard today, kesesese~!" he laughed out. You heard some additional gulping noises and a refreshing breath of air. You could tell from the noises that he was enjoying a good dose of beer from his long day of work, if he had any to begin with. "What?" you asked.

"Oh, c'mon! Guess!"

"No, Gilbert! I'm not playing one of your mindless games, again!"

"Sheesh! You're just not as fun as you used to be."

"Well, what was the news?"

"Uhhh…I forgot." He answered sheepishly. You growled at him. "Hey! I'll remember soon! The awesome I always do! Kesesese~!" he laughed again, his language slurred and difficult to understand. "You better! Call me back when you're serious and not in the middle of getting drunk, alright?!" you told him, and without waiting for a response, you hung up.

You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration and anger.

This was going to be one hell of a lovely trip.

Another story?! Woo! I am on a roll. I promised this story to HetaliaWatcher2012. This is also my first Reader-Insert story, and romance genre, so if it comes off as a little weird or awkward, I'm sorry. I want to try out different ways to tell a story and different genres, just for fun and for practice. I still hope that you enjoy it however.