Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Enough said.

Chapter Rating: K+ maybe K . . . I suck at ratings.

Translations: No translations this time around. D:

Prolouge


Arthur Kirkland has lead an average life thus far. Raised in the very wealthy Kirkland family, the youngest of five children; he was used to getting everything he wanted and needed to live in the world.

He is well on his way onto becoming a successful journalist in his family's world renown company, just after a few years after graduating from college with a literature degree. Ignoring the fact that it may be from the cause of his family's influence, but he chooses to believe that it is his writing abilities that have gotten him this far.

Though, thanks to being the youngest, he understands that he will never own the company unless something happens to all of his older brothers. But, since there's four of them and one of him, he knows the chance is slim, so does his parents for they never expected much from him.

But, he has always tried to prove his worth for his wants to be the best as he can be.

With that said, Arthur's career may be shooting sky high, but his social life, I mean his nonexistent social life, is well that, nonexistent.

It's not that he does not have enough time to be social and all. His job requires him to be social in order to get the info he needs for articles and such. But, however social he gets, people do not like sticking around for too long.

Don't get Arthur wrong and all, he's a likable fellow, a tad too serious sometimes but likable, nonetheless. That is, until he gets a little angry.

Alfred F. Jones, Arthur's closest friend since middle school, is one of the few, to have stuck around Arthur despite how angry the little Englishman can get.

Despite his anger management "problem", his appearance tells over wise. Messy, short blond hair, bright green eyes, a little on the short side, and quite slender, he was many call 'of average appearance'. But, his most noticeable feature is what he and his brothers (to some extent) share are big, bushy eyebrows.

And, like every Englishman out there, he loves his tea time and always makes time for it no matter how busy he is.

And now, at the age of twenty three, he has began to notice how predictable his schedule is. Day after day; Arthur wakes at the crack of dawn, eats his wonderfully cooked breakfast (made by yours truly), drives his car to work, turns in his work from the day before and starts immediately on his next task.

Who wouldn't like a predictable schedule such as Arthur's; but Arthur himself. Little to his knowledge, his schedule may get a schedule change he has always wanted, but never knew he wanted.

And, it starts with him being assigned to interview the world's raising French fashion designer, Francis Bonnefoy.


Francis Bonnefoy, on the other hand has not lead the average life such as Arthur. As soon as he was born, he was dropped at one of Paris' many orphanages. At a very young age, Francis had set his goal to be the world's best and most famous fashion designer. Easier said than done.

Thanks to having no family of his own, and having no support from the ones who raised him. He had almost given up a number of times, why he never did still confuses him to this day. As soon as he was five, he did a number of odd jobs some of which, he would never mention again, absolutely never.

His odd jobs continued throughout his school career. But, along those years, he gained support from people who were not his family, but might as well be. Two imperticular, Gilbert Beilschmidt and Antonio Hernandez, have been at his side through the worst of times and through the best of times.

Francis would be lying to himself if he said he was proud of himself doing all those odd jobs. There were a few where he was outright ashamed of and if it weren't for his best friends- no, his brothers, he is sure he would not be where he is now.

Which is true, if it weren't for Gilbert's pushy nature and Antonio's optimistic nature, he would have never taken a job as a model at the age of seventeen.

Francis and his friends were a handsome trio, each with different attributes that made them, well them. Francis with medium length, wavy, blond hair, with sparkling blue eyes, his slenderness along with a few muscles and his taller-than-average height; he made a perfect model.

His best point, which was why he was offered to be a model in the first place, was his eye for small details. Even though many designers would never listen to what a model would have to say for their job was to wear their clothes and look pretty; Francis brought many points to the runway that otherwise the designers missed. They were grateful for having him around.

Within the next few years, many of the major clothing companies in the world, began eying Francis' eye to detail, and soon Francis was offered to design his own line of woman's clothing; to which he did not need his best friends to convince him to say yes. For this was his life's goal. And, he had finally made it.

Now at the age of twenty six, Francis Bonnefoy completed his life's goal. His first designer line was finally ready for the world to see, and during fashion week in Paris, no less!

But, only at the age of twenty six, he has already completed what many did in a lifetime, he never thought of a second goal for he didn't think he would complete the first so soon. . . Or, ever for that matter.

With the world's fashion industry in the palm of his hand, Francis has no idea what to achieve next.

Who wouldn't like to complete one's lifetime goal at such an early age such as Francis; but Francis himself. Little to his knowledge, Francis may see what his next goal in life shall be soon enough.

And, it starts with him, annoying a successful English journalist during fashion week.


Yeah that was absolutely horrible . . . But I felt like I need to get out of my system. I mean seriously! It's been bugging me for days! Okay just two days but still! Is it me or does France have a bigger prologue than little England? Oh well . . . Review if you liked what you read. Even though I think it's horrible (trying out a new writing style), I may continue if enough people like this . . . .