Author's Note: Slightly crossed over with the webcomic Afghanis-tan by Timaking. One-sided America/Afghanistan. I tried to research some of the traditional Muslim clothing best I could.
Disclaimer: I am not associated with the creators of Afghanis-tan or Hetalia.
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Alfred smiled weakly at Arthur. He appreciated the attempts, really he did, but it was at this point he really just wanted to curl up and take a nap. The new boss was driving him out of his head, while he was coming close to getting kicked out of his house, and, of course, he had that whole situation with Amal to deal with and people weren't just that happy with him. More importantly, it was that day. He figured that was part of the reason why Arthur had wanted to hang out with him.
Normally for the past couple of years, all the others would ignore him on this day. It was also understood if he just didn't come out of his bedroom. The people of the nation he represented had been forgetting. Sure at times it seemed pointless that he still was trying to help Amal, especially after she would always attempt to bare his attempts to get into her house, but there was nothing wrong with being kind was there? Even though to a certain extent it felt like she resented it all.
He'd go over to her to her house occasionally (uninvited, it was his way after all, but most of the nations were used to it after all) and fix things for her and all the while telling her what exactly he thought she should do. This annoyed her, and Arthur told Alfred about this once after he had noticed it. The anti-social, but pretty nation wouldn't say anything however and would silently endure the jibs Alfred would make about what she should and shouldn't do. A lot of it was how she dressed. She dressed in the most traditional clothing whenever he would come over. She was timid, and didn't want to offend. He would tell her he didn't care, and he had even brought her some nice clothes one of the times he was over. It was this time when Amal had finally had enough. He had reduced her to wearing merely a hijab and (according to him she had 'no need to be formal' and 'he didn't care').
"Get out." she whispered finally after he had barged into her house and started to yet again pick a fight with her cat, Nyada.
"Why?" Alfred asked her as he got up.
"Because I hate you. I appreciate all you've done for me. Really I do. But I can take care of myself." she told him. Alfred blinked. "I'm tired of you coming over and telling me what I'm doing wrong. Is that how you treat someone who you want to be friends with?" she asked him. "I want some boundaries."
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"...THEN she tells me that she can't accept it!! Why?!" Alfred shouted over beers to Arthur one night.
"Maybe because every weekend for the past several years you barge into her house and attempt to be Mr. Fix-it." Arthur replied, sipping his beer calmly. Francis nodded in agreement.
"But-but..." Alfred sputtered.
"Just give her some time. Come back after she's calmed down. I'm sure she'll accept your love." Arthur replied. Alfred merely nodded as he looked at his watch. Midnight. It was now September 12th. Maybe it was just the fact that he was remembering that day all those years ago. Maybe he thought that forming a relationship with the Afghani woman would help fix what happened. But he knew it would probably never work.