"Hold the elevator!"

Alfred rushed to get inside before the doors closed. His boss will surely kill him if he is late again. Not that Mr. B would yell at him, but the water pipe hanging in the big man's office, a present which is seemingly only an art piece from his home country in Russia, never fails to intimidate the employees and business partners. Alfred is not afraid of his boss, he's a hero, but after his promotion from the internship last year, he needs this desk job to pay off his mountain of a debt due to student loans from seven years ago. Good job, America.

He had wasted too much time playing Pokémon Go on his phone during his morning jog before work and miscalculated the time it took to brew his morning coffee when he realized he was out and therefore had to stop by a coffee house on the way. He thought he was smart by avoiding popular chains, but in a bustling city as New York, every shop is filled with long lines and caffeine-starving zombies. If he had just remembered to buy coffee beans the day before, he wouldn't be in this situation.

Holding his mostly empty coffee cup in one hand and his work bag in the other, the twenty-nine year old made it to the somewhat crowded elevator in one piece. He caught his breath and thanked the kind man who had held the "|" button.

"Ha, thanks dude! You saved me from running like 50 flights of stairs."

Hot damn!

That was the first thought that crossed Alfred's mind when he finally opened his eyes and noticed the stranger.

The man was dressed in casual business attire, as is everyone else who works in the building, except his suit carried a sort of classic James Bond vibe to it. He had blond hair, like himself, but slightly darker and a whole lot messier. His eyes were made from the brightest emeralds, and his cheeks were faintly decorated with a few freckles. A bit on the short side but that only made him cuter in Alfred's mind.

The man gave him a questioning look as if asking who would run that many stairs. "It wasn't too much trouble to press a button," the hot man replied nonchalantly. Oh, his accent!

Unfortunately, that was that. Alfred debated about striking a conversation, but he figured that it would be awkward to flirt with a fellow businessman in an elevator with five other occupants. No one wants rumors spread about them.

Though, it was entertaining to hear about the latest fight from the preteen magazine GB&EH after a prank involving feathers and whip cream resulted in the co-president needing to wash her long brown hair for two hours. And he was thrilled to find out that the stoic, muscular German man on the 3rd floor proposed to his long-time Italian boyfriend from the café on 17th Street, or was it the other way around? Also, who can forget The Refrigerator Battle of 2013, when the pseudo-furniture and the kitchen appliances companies, who share the 8th floor, competed for fridge rights through a variation of tug-of-war and office chairs. The corporation he worked for wasn't nearly as rambunctious, which is odd for a startup mobile gaming company, but Mr. B was not one for funny business despite the "smile" he wears often.

The elevator continued on its upward journey, stopping on nearly every floor. More people got off than on. It was the beginning of the day, after all.

After the fifteenth stop, remaining were only Alfred and hot-man. I need to find out who he is, and stop calling him hot-man. What am I, Aang?

"Hey, thanks again, for earlier. I'm cutting it pretty close." He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair, a habit he developed from trying to tame his stubborn cowlick.

The other blond waved his hand. "Think nothing of it. It is merely what a gentleman should do."

The man smiled. And that ruined Alfred.

He noticed that hot-man's floor was the next stop. He moved before he could think of the repercussions. Using both hands, Alfred pushed all the buttons as fast possible then leaned against the wall.

"So, tell me about yourself."

Alfred thanks his laziness for running out of coffee that day, because if he had brewed his coffee at home like he did every other morning, he would have missed out on going on a date with Arthur Kirkland, the British editor from the publishing company on the 23rd floor.

A/N: Happy birthday, sillypandalover91! I hope this short story at least brought a smile to your face. If not, I'm sorry I have failed you.

This was inspired by a screenshot of a funny tweet I saw on Tumblr which reads, "*pushes all the buttons in the elevator* So, tell me about yourself." It was too great to just scroll by, so this little world was born.

Thank you for reading! And, go read sillypandalover91's stories, especially Love Has No Recipe. Leave a comment and/or favorite it as a birthday present.

I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers, nor any of its characters. All rights go to Hidekaz Himaruya.