A/N: Written for my friend, who bought me a personalized GerIta bracelet and had to explain to the shopkeeper that GerIta wasn't her name, but a random word. My first AU USUK/FrUK. Let's see where this leads us.

By the way, I literally woke up with the idea. If there has been a story done with this idea, I sincerely apologize and hope that it is not too similar.

Notes: -Commoner!Arthur and Rich!Alfred. Oh, yeah. Haha, pretend nerd!Arthur is like Mia from Princess Dairies (I've only watched the first movie). Princess Arthur of England, lols.
-Oh, and since the setting is in London (and I am hell and gone from Europe), Google Map is my only friend so I apologize if I get the geography of the area wrong.
-Feliciano and Arthur are girl friends. -snorts- They're both around 19-20.

Sp/grammatical errors, DM-linked words, and possible plot holes will be fixed after publication.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.


Arthur Kirkland never really bothered about his wardrobe. Sure, he was roommates with Feliciano Vargas, the Feliciano Vargas whose brother ran a famous designer clothing line that dominated most of Europe (and the urban areas in America), thus giving him access to multiple fashion shows and after parties, including a seemingly unlimited supply of new outfits, but that didn't mean a thing to Arthur. Popularity didn't ensure a person a position in a top university in London, and it certainly didn't do much to help their over-inflated egos. After all, Arthur was in the school on a scholarship, and he didn't think he should waste his time on getting updates on what to wear and what was "in".

Once again, he had studied well into the night in preparation for his exams on physics and Literature (God knows why he'd thought of taking it, but he was never one to back out of a major) and Journalism while Feliciano, for once, was deeply asleep on his bed instead of out on some sexually fraught night out in a pub with that German acquaintance of his, his open sketchbook lying next to him. Maybe if Arthur hadn't been so pessimistic—no, scratch that, he was being realistic—he would've taken Graphic Design and had avoided endless nights such as this. He supposed Feliciano could do whatever he wanted to do in college, since his whole future was practically laid out in front of him; and even if he didn't join his brother and run the company, with all his connections and his artistry and charms Arthur didn't think it'd take him long to find a decent job.

So Feliciano can strut and be pretty in all his in-season shirts and jeans, he was going to read his damn physics book until his eyes fell out and landed on the words "Rotational Equilibrium". He didn't have the time to worry about what to wear and which parties he'd been missing out on.

He pushed his glasses back and flipped the page in his godforsaken textbook.


Coffee shop…

Arthur stretched and emitted a long, tiresome yawn. He should really stop working so late, but at least his classes were over and school was out for the next week. In other words, he was free to laze about, but more often than not he would be cooped up in the library, preparing for the new subjects.

Feliciano munched off the corner of his scone before setting it down and poking the plate away. "You sound like an old man, Arthur," he commented. "Are you all done with your exams?"

"Yes," he replied, eyeing the Italian curiously. Everyday he looked exactly the same—bright smile, sunny disposition, carefree—and that was precisely the reason Arthur thought there must be something wrong with the boy. "I haven't seen you studying."

"Oh, no," Feliciano said, retrieving his sketchbook from his bag and presenting the Brit with an array of inked clothing designs. "This is my exam. I've been working on this the entire month."

Arthur huffed to himself and leaned on his chair, gazing at nothing in particular.

"Isn't that German fellow taking you out to dinner tonight?" he asked.

Feliciano smiled into his teacup.

"! Ludwig is so nice!" he chirped, though his tone slowed down as he noticed something. "And…um, Arthur…how long have you had that sweater?"

"What are you, my mother?" Arthur said irritably. "Why do you need to know, anyways?"

"…I thought maybe I could take you shopping and pick out something, you know—"

"I don't have time for this, Feliciano," he said, crossing his arms. "You know I can't afford anything fancy."

The boy's face fell. "I didn't mean it like that, Arthur, I thought since you are done with your tests we could celebrate and I can get something nice for you—"

Arthur's teacup clinked as it hit the dish; he stood up, gathering his bag and jacket.

"Thank you for your concern, but I believe that will be quite unnecessary," he said frostily.

"A-ah, wait!" Feliciano picked up his things and left a couple of bills on the table before dashing after Arthur. "I'm really sorry, you just looked like you've been working hard and I wanted to get you a present!"

Arthur sighed at Feliciano, whose lips were trembling in terror, and shrugged. "I'm not angry."

"Oh, okay then!" Feliciano soon fell in step with the Brit and beamed at him cheerfully. "I heard that there are new students coming to the university today!"

Arthur quirked his eyebrow. "At this time of the year?"

Feliciano tapped the side of his face, thinking.

"Some overseas program. I remembered because I think their parents had something to do with my frate—" He suddenly stopped walking, his mouth open half-way and the blood draining out of his cheeks. "Oh, no."

"What's the matter?"

"I'm supposed to meet my brother at the airport today! I forgot!" He hurriedly checked his watch, his eyes growing wide. "His flight lands in ten minutes—I-I have to go, Arthur. I'll see you later!"

With that, he hastily scampered away in the opposite direction, frantically searching for a cab. Arthur waved half-heartedly and continued back on his way to the university, the ridiculously-sized physics textbook stored in his bag weighing him down. He wondered if he really was content with how his university years were turning out—

Yes. Of course he was satisfied. His grades were better than most, and he was confident that he'd graduate at the top of his Literature class. But what he always pondered was why he had decided on attending school in London.

To impress his parents and spite his enemies, maybe. To show that one didn't have to be filthy rich to be accepted into this school. To show that even a loser like him could become better than the people who'd made fun of him in the long run.

There had been a feeling of elation and achievement when the acceptance letter arrived, until he noticed that girls were mocking him behind his back, and the guys were laughing at him when he walked across the campus. He hadn't imagined that something as superficial as looks would matter here.

Then again, people were shallow, whether it was in secondary school or college. The only difference was that in secondary school his brothers would throttle the ones who dared to pick on him.

He sure didn't feel much accomplished by the time Feliciano, clad in skinny jeans and boots and half-buttoned Armani shirt, marched into his apartment and introduced himself as his roommate. But Feliciano turned out to be sweet and adoring and could care less what Arthur looked like or wore (Arthur's cooking, however, was another matter entirely). So for a while he forgot about the rumors.

He took another step at the same time a man pushed up from behind and wrenched his bag off his shoulders; the thief charged into the crowd ahead, physics textbook and all.

What the—

Arthur sped after him, shouting furiously. Did the bastard think he was a girl, that he kept his wallet in his satchel (it was not a purse, dammit!)? or did the tosser single him out because he thought that Arthur wouldn't be able to catch up with him?

"Stop running, you wanker—"

He had chased the guy for about a block before someone crashed into the man from the side, the two skidding to the concrete. Arthur swooped in and snatched his bag back just as the thief got to his feet and scrambled away; he bent over to breathe, cursing quietly at the fact that pedestrians were probably staring at him and how the do-gooder saved him as if he were a bloody girl.

Do-gooder was dusting off his pants with one hand as he stood up.

"Damn! I was supposed to punch him in the end. And you're not a hot chick, either." He chuckled, and Arthur could feel his face turning red. "Guess real-life doesn't have the same ending as movies, huh?"

His accent was obviously American. Arthur straightened, expecting to see either a creepy middle-aged man or a video-game-obsessed weirdo, but the person standing before him seemed about the same age as him, with blond hair and bright-blue eyes that flashed in amusement behind glasses, and a dashing smile, complete with an shirt that outlined his body perfectly—not that Arthur was looking.

For all he knew, the git could've stepped out of the sodding magazine.

"You going to thank me or do I have to take you out for coffee first?"

The guy should really be glad that Arthur was too exhausted to punch him.

"Thank you for stopping that man," he muttered, sounding ungrateful, even to himself.

Do-gooder grinned at him, as if he did not mind.

"Does that come with a kiss or something?" he teased.

Was he flirting with him? Arthur glared at him, adjusting his bag. "No. If you'll excuse me—"

"Hey, wait!"

A hand held him back and Arthur instinctively recoiled on touch, staring at the man in horror.

"What do you want?"

He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "I'm kind of lost, actually. I was supposed to meet my brother at some hotel called Dorchester. I sorta missed my ride so I had to call my friend, and he dropped me off here…"

Arthur then saw the guy's luggage sitting by his feet. "Keep walking down the street and you'll get there eventual—" He paused, blinking at the guy's palm. "You're bleeding."

Do-gooder looked at his hand. "Huh. I guess so."

"Oh, damn it all, I'm sorry. I should help you wrap that up—"

"No need," he said brightly. "A hero's gotta make sacrifices, and I'm already running late. I'll see you around…uh…"

Sacrifices? What the hell? "Arthur."

He winked.

"Right. Artie. You can call me Al."

Arthur's eye twitched in annoyance at the nickname. "My name is—"

The American had already picked up his bag and bounded across the street like some idiot tourist. As he did so, however, something metallic dropped from his pocket to the ground by Arthur's feet—the guy had left his keys behind.

And he was already on the other side of the road.


Apartment…

"Al? As in Alfred F. Jones?"

Arthur was lying on the bed, his legs propped against the wall, his notebook covering his face. "That's what the tag on his key says."

But to be honest, the ring only had one key hanging on it, the rest were little American flag trinkets and hamburger and soda charms.

Feliciano had just finished ranting about how his brother had thrown a fit at the airport and how he'd barely managed to make it in time to meet up with Ludwig when his attention was diverted by do-gooder's name. His expression was a cross between cute and an elderly person trying to recalled where he'd left the TV remote.

"Alfred Jones…" Feliciano sat backwards on his swivel chair, his chin on the headrest. "Isn't he the one coming to the University for that study-abroad thing? Him and his brother?"

Arthur was glad the notebook covered his stupefied expression. He threw the notes to the side and took off his glasses.

"So?" he demanded.

"So…my brother is here for the Autumn-Winter fashion show, and Jones's parents are funding it, that's why I remembered his name. There's an after party in three days, and that means you can give the keys back to him if you come with me!"

So do-gooder was just another rich boy, living off his parent's cash and throwing parties on the side. Like half of the wealthy brats attending this university.

Does that come with a kiss or something?

What the hell was he doing, mentally chasing after some guy he'd just met on the streets (who happened to be extremely rich and hot, but that was not the point) and going as far as to follow him to a private event? That made him about as bad as a stalker.

"I can return his keys when he comes to the school, Feliciano."

Feliciano pulled a face. "But what if he needs it now? It might be the keys to a safe, or his girlfriend's apartment, or his puppy's cage—"

Arthur frowned at the word 'girlfriend', to which he then wondered why he would even care. Jones must've had a billion girls back in the States from the way he spoke to Arthur that afternoon…which meant that Jones was making fun of him the whole time, the nerve of that little—! Arthur sat up in his bed and scowled at Feliciano.

"Oh, alright. But I'm just going to give them back to the git, I'm not going to stay for your little party or anything—"

"Yay! We can go to my brother's store and—"

"I'm not letting you dress me up as if I'm some girl," Arthur hissed. "I said I'm just going to give his bloody keys back."

Feliciano twirled his pencil in one hand, calculating.

"The after party's not exactly black tie, but I don't think they'll let you in with jeans and sweaters, either."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he muttered. "What do you want me to do?"

"I'll take you there tomorrow," Feliciano said warmly. "And you know…your eyes are actually really pretty. You should wear contacts."

Arthur buried his head into his pillow.

"I am going to pretend what you just said wasn't creepy."