Hey! I know I'm supposed to be writing Remember Me and other stuff, but I needed a break. So this is something I wrote to relax.

In case there's any confusion, they're in highschool. It's a boarding school with the course schedule set up similar to that of a college, because the school thinks it's better if students aren't spending the majority of their days sitting in a classroom.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Chapter 1

Arthur glanced at the clock, then back at the student next to him. The male had his bright blue eyes fixed on the front of the class, where the teacher was explaining the difference between polysyndeton and asyndeton—a lesson Arthur thought was self-explanatory. However, Arthur enjoyed listening to an English lecture he already understood just as much as he enjoyed learning new rules that would improve his writing. He was fascinated by the schematics of the language; all the complex rules and techniques only made mastering the language all the more impressive.

Today, however, was an unusual day for Arthur. Normally, English, his favorite subject, was the highlight of his day, but on this particular Friday Arthur felt like ripping his hair out. Francis Bonnefoy was seated to the right of him, and instead of taking notes like the rest of the class, he was tapping his pencil on his desk. The sound was driving Arthur over the edge.

Arthur leaned over, trying to get Francis' attention.

"Could you please stop?"

Francis glanced over at the British teen with a raised eyebrow. Instead of listening to Arthur's request, he rolled his eyes and looked back at the whiteboard.

The Briton glared at the student adjacent to him. Doing his best to recall his gentlemanly nature, he tried again.

"The pencil tapping is really annoying, so if you could stop, it would be much appreciated."

"It helps me focus," Francis admitted, not taking his eyes off the board.

"Well, it's disturbing me, so stop!" Arthur snapped. He was at his wits' end; each consecutive tap of the pencil was taking him one step further down crazy lane.

Francis ignored Arthur's outrage, seeming to only care about the lesson at hand. Arthur tried his best to not jump out of his seat and strangle the French teen, but with every additional thud of the pencil striking a desk Arthur knew he was fighting a losing battle. In a final attempt to keep his composure, Arthur ran his fingers through his short dirty blond locks. He proceeded by taking and letting out a deep breath, closing his eyes in an effort to calm himself.

When the Brit reopened his leaf green eyes, he was in a library-his happy place. Bookcase after bookcase of novels and not another person to be seen; it was quite literally Heaven. He approached the first shelf and scanned a few of the poetry titles. His eyes ran over the names of some of his favorite authors—William Blake, Emily Dickinson, James Joyce, and John Keats— before he got to the name he was searching for: Edgar Allen Poe. Knowing he was going to spend quite a bit of time in that particular section, he took a seat on the carpeted floor, crossing his legs Indian Style. He had barely opened to the first poem, however, when he heard a thud from a few aisles away; he got up to see what happened, leaving his poetry on the floor and heading towards where he thought the sound originated. About halfway there, he saw a book fly off its shelf and land on the floor with the same thud he recognized from earlier. Soon after, another book fell. Arthur barely had time to question it before more novels were ejecting themselves from their spots and crashing to the ground at a quickening pace. Eventually, the books started to land on Arthur. He tried to protect himself by covering his head and running out of the library, but he was not fast enough. Within seconds, he was up to his hips in literature. It didn't hurt him, but he could not escape. Each book made it harder for him to move. Soon, the novels were over his head, blocking out the light. It was pitch black and all Arthur could hear was the repetitive thump, thump, thump of the books.

Arthur opened his eyes in a panic. It felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest. The teen moved his hand over his heart, almost as if to keep it in place. He was back at his desk, but he could still hear the sound of books piling on top of him. Frantic, he turned from side to side, trying to identify the source. His eyes landed on a number two pencil.

Francis had an elbow on his desk to easily use that hand to prop his head up. His other hand was creating the incessant pencil tapping noises that were slowly driving Arthur to lunacy. However, his intense attention on the daily lesson prevented him from noticing the Brit's annoyance.

That's it! Arthur yelled mentally, leaning over in his seat to rip the pencil away from Francis. He took the writing utensil into both hands and broke it with his thumbs. For a moment, Arthur was sure he looked like a maniac to the rest of his class, but it was well worth it. Anymore of that irksome tapping and Arthur would have killed somebody. As far as he was concerned, Francis was lucky all he broke was the pencil.

"What is your problem?" Francis snapped, turning to face Arthur. Francis furrowed his eyebrows in anger, searching the other teen's face for a reasonable explanation.

"Like you don't know!" Arthur yelled. As if to prove his anger, he threw both pieces of the broken pencil at the teen to his right. Francis had quick reflexes and effortlessly deflected attack, paying no mind to where the fragments would land. Immediately, Francis regretted it.

The teacher, Ms. Clement, had just turned around to identify who was yelling when she was hit square in the face with one of the two pieces of a pencil. Without any hesitation, she went to her desk and wrote out a pass to the principal's office. At the top, in large print, were Francis Bonnefoy and Arthur Kirkland. She slapped the note on Francis' desk.

"Both of you go, now."

Arthur did not need to be told twice. He got out of his desk, grabbed his satchel, and headed for the door to wait for Francis. For a moment, it seemed like the French teen was going to question his punishment, but the glare Ms. Clement was giving him made Francis think he had a better chance explaining the situation to the dean. Francis got up, collected his belongings, and followed Arthur's lead. The second the two left the room and the door closed behind them, Francis walked into Arthur, shoving the Brit to the wall, hard.

"What's wrong with you?!" Francis demanded, staring down the other teen.

Arthur fixed his shirt before answering, refusing to allow his shirt to wrinkle because of Francis' inconsiderate actions.

"Me?" Arthur inquired, pointing to himself. "I'm not the one tapping his pencil like there's no tomorrow."

"It helps me concentrate," Francis explained, shifting his gaze to the floor.

"You've been in this class three weeks and you've never done that stupid pencil tapping nonsense!" Arthur pushed the teen as revenge for being shoved earlier.

"Maybe I'm trying harder now, ever think of that?" Francis quipped, barely giving Arthur enough time to think before forcing him into the wall. He put his hands on both sides of the British teen to make sure Arthur's attention on him.

"What? You don't just bat your eyes at teachers and expect an A?" Arthur tried to push Francis out of his way, but the other teen was not moving.

"Just because I'm attractive, doesn't mean I don't have to work like everybody else."

"You could have fooled me. I've seen you spend an entire math class flirting with a teacher's assistant. That is, when you weren't texting your friends!"

"That's because math is easy!"

"And English isn't?"

"Well…" Francis started. Backing away from the wall, Francis let his arms fall to his side. He looked up to Arthur and raised the inner parts of his eyebrows, pulling them together, but only for a moment. Something seemed to change in Francis' thoughts as the French teen's facial expression morphed into something else. His eyebrows shifted downward, creating a vertical line in the space between the two and his lips tensed.

"Not everyone had English as their first language," Francis claimed before strutting down the hall.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Arthur asked himself aloud, watching Francis make off towards the principal. He stood there for a few seconds, confused, before making the connection. Arthur practically had to sprint to catch up with Francis before he reached the end of the hall. He grabbed the French teen's arm, stopping Francis from opening the door to the office.

"Are you having trouble in English?"

"Great, you figured me out! Rub it in, why don't you? I know you'd love to." Francis pulled his arm out of Arthur's grasp. Arthur's face fell at the sound of the other teen's words.

"Why do you think I want to rub it in?"

Francis scoffed. He barely took a second to reply. "Because you hate me," Francis began, crossing his arms for effect. "Every day you find a new excuse to insult me or yell at me for just trying to be nice!"

"I don't hate you," Arthur explained. He looked to the floor and then back up to Francis, feeling his face get hot. He took a step closer to Francis and started rubbing his arm uneasily.

"I actually really like you. I mean… I really like picking on you." Arthur turned away from Francis entirely, not wanting to see how he reacted. Unsure what to do, the Brit vouched in favor of entering the main office. The English teen would rather deal with the dean than explain his Freudian Slip to Francis. He opened the door and went inside, assuming Francis would follow.

"We were sent to see the dean."

The secretary nodded. She relayed the information to the dean via a handheld radio. While waiting for his reply, Arthur shifted his weight from foot to foot, not daring to look at Francis.

I can't believe I said I like him. Now he's probably going to misinterpret that into something sexual and ugh. Why did the stupid frog have to be so irritating?

Francis nudged Arthur, pulling the teen from his thoughts. Apparently, the secretary had said they could go, because Francis was opening the door to the dean's office. On the inside of the office rested a large mahogany desk which was fairly vacant except for an American flag, a name tag, a few papers, and two pens, all of which seemed very organized.

Francis smiled confidently, walking up to hand over the paper to the Germanic man behind the desk.

"Let me explain."

Twenty minutes later, the two were walking out of the dean's office without any punishment. Francis had talked the dean out of it, but the two did receive a stern warning. Regardless, neither of them wanted to press their luck like that again. While he seemed in a well enough mood today, they had a feeling the dean could be really mean when he wanted to be.

The two were walking in silence. Class ended ten minutes ago, so there was no going back there. Arthur's next class was still an hour and a half away, and Francis was free for the day. They could go their separate ways at any time, but both knew they needed to talk. However, instead of addressing it, they strolled across campus side by side hoping the other would speak first.

It wasn't until Arthur finally spoke up that the two stopped walking.

"If you're so desperate for help, I suppose I could tutor you."

"You? Tutor me?" he asked suspiciously. "Why?"

"To get you to stop that incessant pencil tapping."

Francis scanned his face for any sign of deceit. He took a step closer, squinting his eyes slightly.

"That still seems a bit out of character for you. Even if you don't hate me, I doubt you'd help me out of the kindness of your heart. That is… if there's any kindness in your heart."

"Wow, you're great at getting people to help you. I'm surprised you don't have a line of people waiting to teach you the ins and outs of syntax," Arthur remarked sarcastically, crossing his arms.

"Look, I'm not trying to be mean-"

"How was that not trying to be mean?!"

"I just want to be sure that you're really going to help me. This past week alone I've gone through twelve different tutors, all of which tried to get into my pants. So yeah, I'm a little skeptical about your intentions, especially since I'm desperate to bring my grade up."

Arthur scoffed. "You wish. This might seem hard for you to believe, but not everyone wants to sleep with you. I'll help you out of respect for the English language, because I care when people are butchering it."

"Then… thank you." Francis smiled from ear to ear, seemingly getting more excited by the second. He pulled Arthur into a hug, and then kissed him on both cheeks. Afterwards he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell.

"I should probably give you my number, right? That way we can contact each other and whatnot."

Arthur nodded in agreement. He took out his cell and handed it to Francis.

"This is your phone?" Francis inspected it as if was foreign technology. It was a Blackberry Torch 9810 with a blue gel phone case.

"What's wrong with my phone?"

"Nothing, if you're a fifty year old business woman. I thought these only existed in museums. How do you even press these keys? They're so small."

"Firstly, it only came out four years ago, and secondly, it works just fine. I don't understand people like you, with your apple phones." Arthur lifted up Francis' phone for emphasis. "Why would I even bother with a phone if I planned on replacing in within the year?"

"Whatever, grandpa," Francis joked.

"Again, this phone only came out, four years ago! And your phone doesn't even make sense. It only has one button," Arthur explained, tapping the screen furiously. Francis had opened it to contacts, but somehow Arthur found himself looking at a calculator.

"Where's the back button?"

"It's the..." Francis began, stopping when he caught sight of Arthur fighting with his iPhone. For a few seconds he watched with amusement as the British teen fiddled with the phone. However, when Arthur jumped at the sound of accidentally playing a song, Francis took pity on him. He took the device back and set it to the add contact screen before giving Arthur a second chance to add his information.

When they finished swapping contact info and phones had been returned to their proper owners, Francis was still smiling. It seemed natural, like this is how Francis' face always looked. What caught Arthur's attention, though, was not how vibrant the smile was, but how he felt seeing Francis smile. Just watching Francis being happy, made him somehow feel better.

I hope you liked it. I really liked writing it.

If you want to leave a review, it would be much appreciated. :)