Title: Letters to December: Chapter One, December Second.
Pairing: England/America, America/England
Genre: Romance
Rating: T
Summary: "It was no secret that Alfred preferred the warm to the cold, thus it was quite clear to anyone that came into contact with him during the winter that he'd much rather be chopping off his own fingers than shoveling the snow."

Hello everyone, I'm bored and I hate all of this cold weather…this is the result of the mixture.

Rating may change, I'm still undecided.

This story is based off of a Facebook status that I posted when I was feeling particularly bitter about the weather.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.

Note: This story takes place in the near future, around March 2012...in hindsight, I probably could have just left the years at 20XX or not mentioned years at all, but it feels better to me when there's an actual date. I think it seems more like an actual diary entry that way.

Letters to December: December Second

Arthur knew Alfred. Dare to say, he knew Alfred quite well. They'd known each other since grade school, after all.

Now, Alfred F. Jones was the sort of person that appeared to be an open book to the untrained eye. Arthur was quite aware that the boy put up a front. However, even though he knew that the smiles and the constant joking were not entirely true, even though he knew that the laughs and idiotic behavior were often covering up hurt feelings, even though he was quite aware that those blue eyes preferred to gaze at Macbeth rather than Twilight, he still never would have considered Alfred to have an ounce of poetic soul. He doubted the boy could even write a simple metaphor that didn't contain something to do with fast food or baseball.

Needless to say, when he stumbled upon a little blue book that he assumed to be a schedule, he was shocked to open it and discover what might be considered a diary. A rather poetic diary, mind you. One that he'd be more likely to associate with the American's much more cultured brother, if not for the specifics of the content.

It was no secret that Alfred preferred the warm to the cold, thus it was quite clear to anyone that came into contact with him during the winter that he'd much rather be chopping off his own fingers than shoveling the snow. This innate dislike for the season was polar opposite to Matthew who adored flopping down in the fluff and building forts when he wasn't skating around on makeshift rinks.

This being the case, the "Letters to December" were clearly not Matthew's. This conclusion only left one other possible prospect.

Arthur swallowed, feeling mildly guilty for looking through the younger twin's belongings (yes, Alfred was younger, but you'd be hard pressed to get him to acknowledge it), but not guilty enough to squash his curiosity and walk away.

He looked to the first entry, re-reading it and pondering how someone like Alfred could have written this, it wasn't something that the Alfred he knew would write (and he had been under the impression that he knew everything about his child hood friend, perhaps save for some more intimate details that he was fairly certain that he didn't have much interest in knowing anyway).

December 2, 2010

Dear December,
I know you just got here and I mean no offense, but I miss June and I don't think that this is going to work out. I'm sorry, but I just prefer June's warm smile to your cold shoulder.

It was short, simple. But these few words carried more meaning to those that knew Alfred…they held more meaning to Arthur.

The first thought Arthur had, was how unlike Alfred this 'letter' was.

A more appropriate letter for Alfred to be writing to December was "FUCK, I HATE YOUR SNOW AND YOUR -5 DEGREE WEATHER!" He read over the passage once more just to be sure that such an option really wasn't the case and the lack of sleep over the last few days wasn't fucking with his mind.

Having read the letter a number of times, he slowly began to piece together the information contained that a normal friend of Alfred's would likely have no hope of realizing. December 2nd, 2010…the very first thing stated, seemingly innocent. However, this was the day after, if the Englishman recalled correctly, Alfred started dating that platinum blonde, vanilla skinned beauty that had been in one of their classes. He thought back to it, the relationship between his best friend and the girl that they shared Chemistry class with (a class which he was forced to take by a puppy eyed jock; he's never stopped regretting it).

Alfred's relationships never lasted particularly long; this one was one of the longest by comparison. He could remember how shocked the student body had been when they returned to classes after winter break to find that their star hitter had been dumped only a month after the start of their relationship, on January 1st, 2011. A perfect way to start the New Year, indeed.

Though, as he read the letter, he began remembering things that he had forgotten. It was true. The beauty from Belarus certainly did have a cold demeanor. Her beauty made her infamous, equal only to the renownedness of her inapproachability. Men both admired and feared her. So, when the cold queen and the sunny golden boy got together, the gossip, naturally, flew every which way, only to spread like fire once more after the news of their split.

Arthur was admittedly shocked that it had lasted as long as it did, considering how different the two were. He could also admit, however, that he did not know Natalia as well as he knew Alfred (not by a long shot). It was possible that, like Alfred, she also hid under a front. Only her front was a cold glare and sharp tongue opposed to a dumb grin and clap on the back. Therefore, he could not dismiss the possibility that beneath both of their contrasting masks hid a million similarities.

Through these vague memories of their junior year, he was able to discern who the letter was referring to…well, half of the letter.

It was clear to him that December was describing the girl that Alfred had dated over a year ago. It was clear that, if this letter spoke the truth, Alfred had been unhappy in the relationship from the get go. On the flip side, it was not clear why Alfred had stayed in a relationship with a woman he didn't care about for so long, nor was it clear about the true reason for their parting.

While these questions were puzzling and his peridot eyes scanned the short letter for clues that didn't seem to be there, the question that boggled him the most was the month that Alfred had been missing.

Who was June?

Hope that you enjoyed what I've written so far.

I'm going to try and post chapters periodically throughout the course of this month, but anyone that's read one of my chapter stories should know quite well that I'm terrible at updating regularly. Writing is pretty difficult when I'm not feeling particularly motivated or inspired, so the urge often comes in random spurts.

I'll try to keep up with it.