I remember opening the beaten letter that had addressed to me.

"Matt,

I hope you've been well! Been a long time since we've seen each other! And speaking (or writing) of that, it's why I'm writing you this letter.

Within the past few month's I've gone into a business venture. I've opened a small restaurant in New York City and after a few stable and profitable few months, it seems like it's looking good! As my closest friend, it would mean a great deal if you could help your old pal out!

I know that's asking a lot, and that it'd be a big and risky chance, but I really need your help! I'll write you a longer letter explaining everything in detail, but before I do I just want to know if you're interested!

- Alfred

P.S

Please think about it!"

I rolled my violet eyes. Who would be insane enough to leave behind everything for their best friend? I looked at the floor and saw my luggage at my feet. I mentally slapped myself.

Oh yeah. I am.

Some how, with Alfred's letter (along with a little persuasion from my parents) I had been thrust out of my home in the small town of Érable, Canada and was heading towards New York City in the diverse land of America. I had been convinced that I needed to "expand my horizons" and, to simply put it, live a little. And with Alfred's frank invitation to join him in the big apple, who was I to say no?

Sure, I still had my doubts on this, but I had to take a chance. After all, we'd been friends since we've learned to talk and this enormous life change was definitely something I could trust him on. Alfred might have been both childish and brash in his thinking, but the amount of focus and determination he had could bring the ideas in his gear-grinding fantasy into the real world. And by God if one of these shenanigans that rooted into his mind was that I should come live with him in America, he was going to make it happen whether I consented to it or not. Thankfully for him, I didn't fight him on it (mostly because I knew he would drag me out of my bed in the middle of the night if the situation boiled down to it) and now I was dragging my Canadian ass down to the states on a cramped train with both questionable smells and people.

Alfred had better be serious about this.

I really hoped he was. He was basically laying out a piece of the American dream for me, something that every immigrant had ever hoped for, and it sounded just a little too good to be true. Alfred would be known for making everything and anything seem glamorous if he needed to, and I was pretty sure this was one of those times. I mean his letter was pretty vague, so there was more to it than he was informing me of. But for now I would buy it.

"Attention all passengers, we will be arriving at our destination in a few minutes! Make sure you have all your belongings and thank you for traveling with us!" The train attendant addressed to my cart.

And in that moment, everything seemed to overwhelm me. I felt a rush of excitement and adventure running through my veins! My heart was pounding like a beating drum, everything was about to change! I couldn't contain myself and turned my head to see the towering sky line of the city. The gigantic steel buildings, painting an industrial landscape into my mind. Something that I would never forget. I mean really though, how could I? It was different from anything I'd ever seen before. I was used to small wooden houses with snow covering the roofs!

With that in the back of my mind, all the exuberance was replaced with uneasy anxiousness. New York was a humongous city. The city never seemed to sleep, and there was action going on everywhere. There was too much to keep track of! I could get lost so easily. Or with millions of people, there could be a killer out there waiting for me! I was just an innocent Canadian citizen from a town with less than a thousand people! I couldn't protect myself. I couldn't be so independent so fast in a city as intricate as New York! Maybe I wasn't cut out for living in the city. Maybe listening to Alfred was a bad idea.

But I was abruptly brought out of my thoughts. I was shoved and pushed as everyone was snaking their way to get out the exit of the train. For some unforeseen reason, it was like each person had to be the first off the train. I kept my two bags by my feet, in absolutely no rush to extricate myself from the jungle of people. Obviously I wasn't going to be getting out of there anytime soon.

Being too lazy to dig through my bag, I had tried to remember what Alfred had written me. After I replied to him that I'd join him in his ventures in New York, I quickly received his enthusiastic letter describing in detail what to do upon my arrival. In short, he had said he would be there waiting for me along with another friend. I was actually interested to meet this friend of Alfred.

Apparently he had met him in the Great War at a British-American Camp and they had talked to each other when they got a chance. His named was Arthur Kirkland. Alfred had told me their friendship began with a rocky start, but now they were the best of friends (but he was quick to reassure me that I'm still his first and favorite friend, and that I always will be).

From the letters that were written, he seemed interesting to say the least. He came off as a rather nice and happy guy. Alfred apparently liked him a lot because he only ever had good things to say about Arthur in letters. The only things I definitely new about Arthur from Alfred's letters about Arthur's love for earl grey tea, that he knew how to play guitar, and he had an interest in fairytales. He appeared to be quite the character.

After patiently waiting for about three minutes, I finally got up from my seat and grabbed my bags and left the steel transcontinental train. After long hours of traveling, I finally set foot into Grand Central Station. Once again I was in complete awe. There were so many people, scurrying in all different directions to catch their train. Admittedly, I got pushed several times, but I dismissed it. I was used to people running into me. I mean, I was practically invisible to a lot of people because I was usually pretty quiet and reserved so it didn't bother me.

Then I started to look for the meeting location Alfred had mentioned. He said he would meet me in the front of the big clock in the center of the station. Something very conspicuous so that neither of us could mess it up.

I walked up to it, inspecting all angles. I was confused for a moment when I couldn't find him. But suddenly, I heard a crescendo of hurried foot steps and the sound of a person shouting, "Mattie!"

I turned around and sure enough, Alfred was there. He slammed in to me, engulfing me in a bear hug.

"I missed you! Long time to see!" he cried. His overly dramatic actions were beginning to draw in a crowd and I was beginning to feel a bit awkward.

"Alfred, get off your poor friend. You're embarrassing him," an accented voice called from behind Alfred. I peeked past my best friend's shoulder to see the man he had mentioned often. The first thing I noticed about him was his gigantic eyebrows.

His eyebrows. Holy shit.

They were a rather noticeable feature on his face, gigantic to say the least. The other remarkable feature being the bright emerald eyes he had. But the eyebrows were definitely prominent. He had bright sandy blond hair that looked even brighter in the right light. He also had a scowl on his face, clearly still disapproving of Alfred's actions. Of course though, Arthur's unspoken efforts went unnoticed by Alfred.

He rushed over and yanked Alfred by his collar to remove him from me. I was thankful for that. Alfred was a lot heavier than I had last remembered and it was starting to become hard to breathe.

"Thank you very much," I told Arthur.

His unamused expression quickly switched to a happier one. "The pleasure is all mine. I'm Arthur, this buffoon's friend."

"I'm aware. Alfred's mentioned you a great number of times in his letters. Nothing but nice things to read about you. I'm sure he's already mentioned me, but I'm Matthew," I said. I could see the slight look of nervousness overtake his face when I mentioned Alfred had written to me about him. But he kept his composure and I had a feeling Arthur would talk to him about it later. We'd already caused a small scene and there wasn't a need to start another.

"Let's get moving you git," he directed to Alfred. "I bet your friend here is tired and would like to get to the loft."

"Sounds like a plan!" I agreed. With Alfred's nod of approval, we all made our way out of the station.

I was expecting to walk most of the way back to the apartment, but to my surprise Alfred and Arthur went straight for a sleek, white Rolls Royce. It astounded me that Alfred alone had been able to pay for such a luxury of a car. He must not have been kidding about his restaurant being successful. That car was worth more money than I could ever hope to see.

Alfred tossed my bags into the back, earning him a yell from Arthur as to not ruin the seats. Alfred then entered in the driver's side and Arthur the passenger side, leaving me to sit in the back. Once we were all settled in, we set off to Alfred's home.

Everyone was staring at us like we were a couple of exotic circus animals. The shine his expensive car emitted had attracted attention as we drove down the busy streets of Manhattan.

I think Alfred secretly loved the looks of jealousy he received from people. Alfred looked for any kind of attention, whether or not it was positive or negative. However I wasn't that kind of person, and felt very uncomfortable. I was accustomed to being part of the background and unnoticed, but being in the car left me in center stage and unsure of what to do. So I let myself sink into the back seat and away from the window.

In reality, the drive from the train station to Alfred's house wasn't long. But Alfred and Arthur's bickering made it seem like days. When we reached the dual restaurant/house, it immediately screamed Alfred to me.

Although it was daytime, I could see light up signs covering every inch of the restaurant window. It demanded attention. Its intent to bring you closer and to wonder what was inside. It dared you to look in every nook and cranny to figure out what was just so special about it. Although the outside was made of brick, the inside looked like it came from a Hollywood film!

Bright patriotic colors of red, white, and blue covered every inch of the walls. No doubt Alfred himself had painted it. I could see fire truck red booths against the walls, and individual ocean blue leather chairs scattered around random white tables. He had different posters hung around the room. All of them different, but in a good way. For instance, I saw posters of famous figures such as Charlie Chaplin and Harry Houdini in the midst of their shows leaving their audience in awe. I also saw posters to support the New York Yankees and the United States army.

In the corner I saw a wide open wooden floor. Well, with the exception of a drum set and piano being tucked into the corner. I smiled at it. Of course Alfred would have live bands play at his restaurant. I liked it. The thought of live music filling the air was exciting. It was also very entertaining to listen to small, undiscovered bands play their music. You could hear their emotions in every note that was played, and I couldn't figure out how people could do that. It's a true talent you know.

Now most people probably didn't understand the concept behind the designing, or even what was up with the posters or live band, but I did. Alfred had put his whole identity into this restaurant from the food (which included his very favorite, hamburgers) to the atmosphere. He was sharing with the world just whom he was. Every item was chosen with his interests in mind.

There were two things I didn't understand though.

The more noticeable of the two was the bar in the center of the restaurant. Prohibition had been placed into American law, banning production, selling, and consumption of alcohol. I assumed Alfred just used it as extra space now to seat more costumers. It was still weird that he refused to take it out though. It would be very confusing to any police officer walking in.

The next was the one white wall in the side wall of the entrance. Names, dates, and locations were scattered around it and I didn't get it.

"That's The Wall."

I turned to Alfred. He had caught me staring at the wall with a puzzled face, and I guess he could tell I had no idea what it was.

"That wall has the name of every person who has walked though the restaurant. Well, at least the people who wanted their name on it," he explained.

"Why?" I asked. The concept of why he did it hadn't struck me yet.

"To show people from all over the world who walk though these doors. Not a lot of places can bring together so many different people, so it's very interesting. And everyone that walks through here has their own story. It's crazy. And it's even crazier when those stories intermingle. Like for instance, see those two names side by side? Roderich Edelstein and Elizaveta Hedervary?"

I nodded.

"Well they met here a couple of months ago and fell for each other. From what I've been hearing they're plannin' on gettin' hitched soon." He seemed to have a small smile, proud that he had indirectly brought the two together. "It's unbelievable. Strange too. I mean who would have thought?"

"Mind if I add on?" I was a little excited. Maybe something interesting would happen to me while I was here, and if it did then I wanted it to be noted that I was here. I didn't want to be some ghost passing through.

"Go ahead," he told me as he gestured toward the wall. I looked around for a pen to write with, but I saw a black crayon in a tin can on a small table next to the wall. I figured it was best to use it, considering majority of the names written down looked like it had been done so in crayon.

I was looking for a spot, and it was more difficult than I imagined. I saw a name in every spot that I would have liked to have placed it. Vash Zwingli. Tino Väinämöinen. Toris Laurinaitis. So many names, and so very little space. Finally I found a space big enough to fit my name. I wrote it next to a man named Gilbert Beilschmidt, whom had written his name rather large and obnoxiously. My signature seemed so tiny in comparison.

"Done," I said, smiling. "Arthur, where's yours?"

Said Briton walked over and began to search for his name. His head moved high and low, but in the end he frowned.

"Truth be told, I haven't got a clue. It was so long ago," he admitted.

"No," Alfred began. "You never put it up there. When I first thought of it I remember you calling it a bloody horrendous idea. Well look at it now! Look at the fool who doesn't have his name up on it!"

"I assure you it's up there!" Arthur began to get annoyed. They were ready to start bickering again. Honestly, how did those two manage to become friends? It didn't sound like the Arthur in the letters at all.

Alfred stood tall. He lifted his chin up so he could look down to Arthur. He wasn't going to lose that challenge. "No it's not! If you're so confident then really search the goddamn wall!"

Arthur was trying to hide his embarrassment. He was too prideful to admit he was wrong, and that his name wasn't on it. So of course, he did what he does best; change the subject.

"Let's just go bring Matthew's bags upstairs to the loft. I bet he's tired," Arthur made up. I wasn't tired, but I didn't want Arthur to lose to Alfred. Alfred was a sore winner. I think the Brit had had enough and that we all knew he was wrong, so why let him suffer through Alfred's I'm-right-you're-wrong rants?

I agreed, and the three of us made our way to a door at the back of the restaurant. Alfred pulled out a key from his pocket to unlock the door and allow us to pass through. It was just a small hallway. It had a rickety old staircase with a small door at the bottom. I'd assumed it was used to store little knick knacks and things of the sort. I wanted to ask what was under there, but before I could Alfred was already leading me up the stairs and opening the door to what would be my new home.

Immediately upon entering I saw that the house was spotless. I was rather shocked at that. For as long as I had known Alfred, he was messy as hell and it seemed weird that the place was picked up. It took me a second to see that my jaw had quite literally dropped and Alfred had the widest grin on his childish face.

"Matthew, don't be too surprised. He did less than half the work. I did most of it," Arthur announced. The grin that was on Alfred's face before disappeared in a heart beat and replaced with a mix of shock and disgust.

"You most certainly did not! Don't listen to him Mattie, he's a liar!" Alfred shot back defensively.

I rolled my eyes. The fighting was extremely tiring. I still wasn't sure how their friendship worked. They were like cats and dogs, day and night, land and sea. They were so different from one another, but their relationship worked. Whatever quality one was missing, the other made up for it. They balanced each other out.

Stepping in, the loft revealed a joint kitchen and living room. I was a little confused though. While the Rolls Royce and restaurant Alfred owned were of stellar quality, the inside of the loft was very modest. It had only the essentials for living. A small icebox, stove, and small wooden dining area seating for four occupied the kitchen area. In the living room, it contained a tiny shelving space for several books, a matching navy blue loveseat and couch, and a big boxy radio. Very simple.

"Follow me," Alfred directed to me. He walked through the living room and down a small hallway which had four doors.

"This one right here," he pointed behind himself, "is my room. The one across is yours. I figured we would both want our personal space, ya know?"

I nodded. I mean I thought Alfred as a great friend and a fun guy to be around, but I don't think I could handle sharing the same room as him.

"The door next to your room is the bathroom, and the one across from is a spare closet. Now I'll let you settle in. I gotta deal with an Englishman who's being a pain in the ass."

I let him tend to his business and walked into my room. Upon entering, I opened my bags. The room was bare, and the first thing I had to do was add some personal touches to it. This was going to be home. I sure as hell didn't want it to feel like it was some sort of prison.

As I was packing my bags the excitement finally kicked in. I was on my own. No one to tell me what to do or how to act. Independent was a good word to describe my attitude. All the little insecurities I had on the train were gone. I smiled to myself. Maybe mom, dad, and Alfred were right.

Maybe this would be a good thing. Maybe this will be exciting.

And dammit, was I more right than I would ever know.

So I'm hoping it wasn't too obvious that I've never written for Hetalia before. I know the beginning is sort of slow, but it'll pick up as more characters are introduced and such. Also, thanks Flonne for beta-ing this for me c: